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Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

From  a  Motor  Car 


WORKS  OF 

FRANCIS   MIL  TO  UN 

Rambles  on  the  Riviera  ^2.50 

Rambles  in  Normandy  2.50 

Rambles  in  Brtttany  2.50 

The  Cathedrals  and  Churches  of  the  Rhine  2.50 

The  Cathedrals  of  Northern  France  2.50 

The  Cathedrals  of  Southern  France  2.50 

In  the  Land  of  Mosques  and  Minarets  3-00 
Castles  and  Chateaux  of  Old  Touraine  and 

the  Lotre  Country  3«00 
Castles  and  Chateaux  of  Old  Navarre  and 

the  Basque  Provinces  3«00 
Italian    Highways    and    Byways    from    a 

Motor    Car  3.CX) 

The  Automobilist  Abroad                            net  3.00 

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^  from  a  Motor  Car 


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Italian    Highways   and 
Byways  from  a  Motor  Car 

By      Francis      M  i  l  t  o  u  n  j;  r^^exi-dovsv^, 

o.  N.  I. 

Author  of  "  Castles  and  Chateaux  of  Old  Touraine,"  "  Castles  and 

Chateaux  of  Old  Navarre,"  "  In  the  Land  of  Mosques  and 

Minarets,"  etc. 

fViib  Pictures 
By    Blanche    McManus 


Boston 

L.    C.    PAGE     &     COMPANY 

I  909 


Copyright,  igog 
By  L.  C,  Page  &  Company 

(incorporated) 
All  rights  reserved 


First  Impression,  May,  1 909 


Electrotyped  and  Printed  at 
THE  COLONIAL  PRESS: 
CH.Simonds  iB!,Co.,Boston,U.S.A. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    The  Way  about  Italy 1 

II.  Of  Italian  Men  and  Manners     ...  23 

III.  Chianti  and  Macaroni    .       .       »       .       .  41 

IV.  Italian  Roads  and  Routes  ....  60 
V.    In  Liguria 81 

VI.  The  Riviera  di  Levantb       ....  108 

VII.    On  Tuscan  Roads 124 

VIII.  Florentine  Backgrounds      ....  144 

IX.    The  Road  to  Rome 164 

X.  The  Campagna  and  Beyond  .       .       .       .181 

XI.    La  Bella  Napoli 196 

XII.  The  Beautiful  Bay  of  Naples  .       .       .  207 

XIII.  Across  Umbria  to  the  Adriatic         .       .  225 

XIV.  By  Adriatic's  Shore       .       .       ,       .       .  237 
XV.    On  the  Via  Emilia 260 

XVI.    In  Venetia 277 

XVII.  Through  Italian  Lakeland         .       .       .  309 

XVIII.  Milan  and  the  Plains  of  Lombardy        .  333 

XIX.  Turin  and  the  Alpine  Gateways      .       .  346 

XX.  From  the  Italian  Lakes  to  the  Riviera    .  360 

Index     .,.,,....  371 


if^i 


OO^i 


In  Bologna  {See  page  266)     .... 

Map  of  Italy 

Italy  in  the  XVIII  Century  (map)  . 

Barberino  di  Mugello 

A  Chianti  Seller 

A  Wayside  Trattoria 

Road  Map  of  North  Italy  .... 
Italian  Road  Signs  ..... 
Profile  Road  Map,  Bologna  —  Florence 

Palazzo  Doria,  Genoa 

Genoa  (map) 

Sun  Dial,  Genoa 

Rapallo 

Rapallo  and  its  Gulf  (map) 

Lucca  (arms) 

On  a  Tuscan  Highway 

Florence  and  Its  Palaces  (map) 
Torch-holders,  Palazzo  Strozzi,  Florence 
Palazzo  Vecchio,  Florence  .... 
A  Lantern,  Palazzo  Strozzi,  Florence   . 

San  Gimignano 

VoLTERRA  (map) 

vii 


facing 
facing 
facing 
facing 


facing 


PAGE 

Frontispiece 

facing  2 

24 

26 

32 

42 

72 

77 

79 

100 

101 

106 

110 

111 

122 

124 

134 

136 

136 

137 

138 

140 


facing 


facing 

facing 
facing 


viii  List  of  Illustrations 

PAGE 

Villa  Palmieri  (diagram) 148 

FlESOLE 150 

Palazzo  della  Signoria,  Siena    .       .       .    facing  164 

Orvieto facing  168 

Arms  of  Various  Papal  Families       ....  172 

Castle  of  Sant'  Angelo,  Rome   .       .       .    facing  174 

Palazzo  Vaticano  (diagram) 175 

The  Borgia  Window,  Rome  ....    facing  176 

Papal  Arms  of  Caesar  Borgia 177 

Arms  of  a  Medicis  Prelate 178 

Villa  Medici,  Rome facing  178 

SuBiAco facing  190 

Villa  d'Este,  Tivoli facing  192 

Hadrian's  Villa  (diagram)     ......  194 

Naples  (diagram) 196 

Castello  dell'  Ovo,  Naples  ....    facing  202 

The  Bay  of  Naples  (map) 208 

IscHiA facing  212 

Lava  Beds  of  Vesuvius  (map) 213 

The  Excavations  of  Pompeii  (diagram)    .       .       .  216 

The  Environs  of  Pompeii      ....    facing  218 

Assisi  (arms) 228 

Assisi ;  Its  Walls,  Castle  and  Church  (diagram)     .  229 

Architectural  Detail,  Perugia  .       .       .    facing  230 

Palazzo  Ducale,  Urbino        ....    facing  232 

Brindisi  ;  The  Terminal  Column  of  the  Appian  Way  240 

Trajan's  Arch,  Ancona facing  242 

Castel  Malatesta,  Rimini     ....    facing  244 

Palazzo  di  Teodorico,  Ravenna         .       .    facing  248 

Column  to  Gaston  de  Foix,  Ravenna      ,       .       .  249 

The  Madonna  of  Chioggia 252 

Borgia  Arms 254 

Ferrara facing  254 

Casa  del  Petrarca,  Arqua 259 

Bologna  (diagram) 267 


List  of  Illustrations  ix 

PAGE 

The  Leaning  Towers  of  Bologna      .       .    facing  268 

Paema  (arms) 272 

PiACENZA  (diagram) 275 

Padua  (arms) 278 

In  Padua facing  280 

Palaces  of  the  Grand  Canal,  Venice  (diagram)     .  289 
The  so-called  "  House  of  Desdemona,"    Venice 

facing  290 

AsoLO 296 

VicENZA  (diagram) 300 

VicENZA facing  302 

Seal  of  Verona 304 

Palazzo  Ducal,  Mantua 311 

On  the  Lago  di  Garda facing  314 

Castle  of  Brescia facing  316 

Bergamo facing  318 

The  Italian  Lakes  (map) 319 

On  the  Lago  di  Como facing  322 

Cadenabbia 324 

On  the  Lago  di  Maggiore    ....    facing  326 

Orta facing  330 

A  Lombard  Fete facing  334 

The  Ancient  Castle  of  Milan    .       .       .    facing  338 

The  Iron  Crown  of  Lombardy 345 

Palazzo  Madonna,  Turin       ....    facing  346 

On  the  Strada,  Moncenisio  ....    facing  350 

Castle  op  Fbnis facing  358 


Italian  Highways  and  Byways 
From  a  Motor  Car 


CHAPTER   I 

THE   WAY   ABOUT   ITALY 

One  travels  in  Italy  chiefly  in  search  of  the 
picturesque,  but  in  Florence,  Rome,  Naples, 
Venice  or  Milan,  and  in  the  larger  towns  lying 
between,  there  is,  in  spite  of  the  romantic  asso- 
ciation of  great  names,  little  that  appeals  to  one 
in  a  personal  sense.  One  admires  what  Ruskin, 
Hare  or  Symonds  tells  one  to  admire,  gets  a 
smattering  of  the  romantic  history  of  the  great 
families  of  the  palaces  and  villas  of  Rome  and 
Florence,  but  absorbs  little  or  nothing  of  the 
genuine  feudal  traditions  of  the  background 
regions  away  from  the  well-worn  roads. 

Along  the  highways  and  byways  runs  the  itin- 
erary of  the  author  and  illustrator  of  this  book, 

1 


2         Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

and  they  have  thus  been  able  to  view  many  of 
the  beauties  and  charms  of  the  countryside 
which  have  been  unknown  to  most  travellers  in 
Italy  in  these  days  of  the  modern  railway. 

Alia  Campagna  was  our  watchword  as  we 
set  out  to  pass  as  many  of  our  Italian  days  and 
nights  as  possible  in  places  little  celebrated  in 
popular  annals,  a  better  way  of  knowing  Italy 
than  one  will  ever  know  it  when  viewed  simply 
from  the  Vatican  steps  or  Frascati's  gardens. 

The  palaces  and  villas  of  Rome,  Florence  and 
Venice  are  known  to  most  European  travellers 
—  as  they  know  Capri,  Vesuvius  or  Amalfi;  but 
of  the  grim  castles  of  Ancona,  of  Rimini  and 
Ravenna,  and  of  the  classic  charms  of  Taor- 
mina  or  of  Sarazza  they  know  considerably 
less;  and  still  less  of  Monte  Cristo's  Island,  of 
Elba,  of  Otranto,  and  of  the  little  hidden-away 
mountain  towns  of  the  Alps  of  Piedmont  and 
the  Val  d'Aoste. 

The  automobile,  as  a  means  of  getting  about, 
has  opened  up  many  old  and  half-used  by- 
ways, and  the  automobile  traveller  of  to-day 
may  confidently  assert  that  he  has  come  to  know 
the  countryside  of  a  beloved  land  as  it  was  not 
even  possible  for  his  grandfathers  to  know  it. 

The  Italian  tour  may  be  made  as  a  conducted 
tour,  as  an  educative  tour,  as  a  mere  butterfly 


The  Way  About  Italy- 


tour  (as  it  often  has  been),  or  as  a  honeymoon 
trip,  but  the  reason  for  its  making  is  always 
the  same;  the  fact  that  Italy  is  a  soft,  fair, 
romantic  land  where  many  things  have  existed, 
and  still  exist,  that  may  be  found  nowhere  else 
on  earth. 

The  romance  of  travel  and  the  process  of 
gathering  legends  and  tales  of  local  manners 
and  customs  is  in  no  way  spoiled  because  of 
modern  means  of  travel.  Many  a  hitherto  un- 
exploited  locality,  with  as  worthy  a  monumental 
shrine  as  many  more  celebrated,  will  now  be- 
come accessible,  perhaps  even  well  known. 

The  pilgrim  goes  to  Italy  because  of  his  de- 
votion to  religion,  or  to  art  or  architecture,  and, 
since  this  is  the  reason  for  his  going,  it  is  this 
reason,  too,  which  has  caused  the  making  of 
more  travel  books  on  Italy  than  on  all  other 
continental  countries  combined.  There  are 
some  who  affect  only  ''  old  masters  "  or  lit- 
erary shrines,  others  who  crave  palaces  or 
villas,  and  yet  others  who  haunt  the  roulette 
tables  of  Monte  Carlo,  Biarritz,  or  some  ex- 
clusive Club  in  the  "  Eternal  City."  Euro- 
pean travel  is  all  things  to  all  men. 

The  pilgrims  that  come  to  Italy  in  increasing 
numbers  each  year  are  not  all  bom  and  bred  of 
artistic  tastes,  but  the  expedition  soon  brings 


4        Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

a  glimmer  of  it  to  the  most  sordid  soul  that  ever 
took  his  amusements  apart  from  his  edification, 
and  therein  lies  the  secret  of  pleasurable  travel 
for  all  classes.  The  automobilist  should  bear 
this  in  mind  and  not  eat  up  the  roadway  through 
Emilia  at  sixty  miles  an  hour  simply  because 
it  is  possible.  There  are  things  to  see  en  route,, 
though  none  of  your  speeding  friends  have  ever 
mentioned  them.  Gret  acquainted  with  them 
yourself  and  pass  the  information  on  to  the 
next.  That  is  what  the  automobile  is  doing  for 
modern  travel  —  more  than  the  stage  or  the 
railway  ever  did,  and  more  than  the  aeroplane 
ever  will ! 

One  does  not  forget  the  American  who  went 
home  to  the  ''  Far  West  "  and  recalled  Rome 
as  the  city  where  he  bought  an  alleged  panama 
hat  (made  probably  at  Leghorn).  He  is  no 
myth.  One  sees  his  like  every  day.  He  who 
hurried  his  daughter  away  from  the  dim  out- 
lined aisles  of  Milan's  Gothic  wonder  to  see  the 
new  electric  light  works  and  the  model  tram- 
way station  was  one  of  these,  but  he  was  the 
better  for  having  done  a  round  of  the  cathe- 
drals of  Italy,  even  if  he  did  get  a  hazy  idea  of 
them  mixed  up  with  his  practical  observations 
on  street-lighting  and  transportation. 

Superficial  Italian  itineraries  have  been  made 


The  Way  About  Italy 


often,  and  their  chronicles  set  down.  They  are 
still  being  made,  and  chronicled,  but  the  makers 
of  guide  books  have,  as  yet,  catered  but  little 
to  the  class  of  leisurely  travellers,  a  class  who 
would  like  to  know  where  some  of  these  un- 
exploited  monuments  exist;  where  these  unfa- 
miliar histories  and  legends  may  be  heard,  and 
how  they  may  all  be  arrived  at,  absorbed  and 
digested.  The  people  of  the  countryside,  too, 
are  usually  more  interesting  than  those  of  the 
towns.  One  has  only  to  compare  the  Italian 
peasant  and  his  picturesque  life  with  the  top- 
hatted  and  frock-coated  Roman  of  to-day  to 
arrive  quickly  to  a  conclusion  as  to  which  is 
typical  of  his  surroundings.  The  Medicis,  the 
Borgias,  and  the  Colonnas  have  gone,  and  to 
find  the  real  romantic  Italian  and  his  manner 
of  life  one  has  to  hunt  him  in  the  small  towns. 

The  modern  traveller  in  Italy  by  road  will 
do  well  to  recall  the  conditions  which  met  the 
traveller  of  past  days.  The  mere  recollection 
of  a  few  names  and  dates  will  enable  the  auto- 
mobilist  to  classify  his  impressions  on  the  road 
in  a  more  definite  and  satisfying  manner  than 
if  he  took  no  cognizance  of  the  pilgrims  who 
have  gone  before. 

Chaucer  set  out  ostensibly  for  Genoa  in  1373 
and  incidentally  met  Petrarch  at  Padua  and 


6       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

talked  shop.    A  monk  named  Felix,  from  Ulm 
on  the  banks  of  the  Danube,  en  route  for  Jeru- 
salem, stopped  off  at  Venice  and  wrote  things 
down  about  it  in  his  diary,  which  he  called  a 
"  faithful  description."     Albrecht  Durer  vis- 
ited Venice  in  1505  and  made  friends  with  many 
there,  and  from  Venice  went  to  Bologna  and 
Ferrara.    An  English  crusading  knight  in  the 
same  century  "  took  in  "  Italy  en  route  to  the 
Holy  Land,  entering  the  country  via  Chambery 
and  Aiguebelle  —  the  most  delightful  gateway 
even  to-day.     Automobilists  should  work  this 
itinerary  out  on  some  diagrammatic  road  map. 
Martin  Luther,  "  with  some  business  to  trans- 
act with  the  Pope's  Vicar,"  passed  through 
Milan,  Pavia,  Bologna  and  Florence  on  his  way 
to  Rome,  and  Rabelais  in  1532  followed  in  the 
train  of  Cardinal  du  Bellay,  and  his  account  of 
how  he  ''  saw  the  Pope  "  is  interesting  reading 
in  these  days  when  even  personally-conducted 
tourists  look  forward  to  the  same  thing.    Joa- 
chim du  Bellay 's  "  visions  of  Rome  "  are  good 
poetry,  but  as  he  was  partisan  to  his  own  be- 
loved Loire  gaulois,  to  the  disparagement  of 
the  Tiber  latin,  their  topographical  worth  is 
somewhat  discounted. 

Sir  Philip  Sidney  was  in  Padua  and  Venice 
in  1573,  and  he  brought  back  a  portrait  of  him- 


The  Way  About  Italy 


self  painted  in  the  latter  city  by  Paul  Veronese, 
as  tourists  to-day  carry  away  wine  glasses  with 
their  initials  embossed  on  them.  The  sentiment 
is  the  same,  but  taste  was  better  in  the  old  days. 

Rubens  was  at  Venice  in  1600,  and  there  are 
those  who  say  that  Shakespeare  got  his  local 
colour  "  on  the  spot."  Mr.  Sidney  Lee  says 
no! 

Back  to  the  land,  as  Dante,  Petrarch,  even 
Horace  and  Virgil,  have  said.  Dante  the  way- 
farer was  a  mighty  traveller,  and  so  was  Pe- 
trach.  Horace  and  Virgil  took  their  view- 
points from  the  Roman  capital,  but  they  penned 
faithful  pictures  which  in  setting  and  colouring 
have,  in  but  few  instances,  changed  unto  this 
day. 

Dante  is  believed  to  have  been  in  Rome  when 
the  first  sentence  was  passed  upon  him,  and 
from  the  Eternal  City  one  can  follow  his  jour- 
neyings  northward  by  easy  stages  to  Siena  and 
Arezzo,  to  the  Alps,  to  Padua,  on  the  Aemilian 
Way,  his  wandering  on  Roman  roads,  his  flight 
by  sea  to  Marseilles,  again  at  Verona  and  finally 
at  Ravenna,  the  last  refuge. 

This  was  an  Italian  itinerary  worth  the  doing. 
Why  should  we  modern  travellers  not  take 
some  historical  personage  and  follow  his  (or 
her)   footsteps  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave? 


8        Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

To  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  Jeanne  d'Arc,  of 
Dante  Alighieri,  or  of  Petrarch  and  his  Laura 
—  though  their  ways  were  widely  divergent  — 
or  of  Henri  IV,  Francois  I,  or  Charles  V,  would 
add  a  zest  and  reason  for  being  to  an  automo- 
bile tour  of  Europe  which  no  twenty-four  hour 
record  from  London  to  Monte  Carlo,  or  eight- 
een hours  from  Naples  to  Geneva  could  possi- 
bly have. 

There  is  another  class  of  travellers  who  will 
prefer  to  wax  solemn  over  the  notorious  jour- 
ney to  Italy  of  Alfred  de  Musset  and  Georges 
Sand.  It  was  a  most  romantic  trip,  as  the 
world  knows.  De  Musset  even  had  to  ask  his 
mother's  consent  to  make  it.  The  past  mistress 
of  eloquence  appeared  at  once  on  the  maternal 
threshold  and  promised  to  look  after  the  young 
man  —  like  a  mother. 

De  Musset 's  brother  saw  the  pair  off  *'  on  a 
misty  melancholy  evening, ' '  and  noted  amongst 
other  dark  omens,  that ' '  the  coach  in  which  the 
travellers  took  their  seats  was  the  thirteenth 
to  leave  the  yard,"  but  for  the  life  of  us  we 
cannot  share  his  solemnity.  The  travellers  met 
Stendhal  at  Lyons.  After  supper  ''  he  was 
very  merry,  got  rather  drunk  and  danced  round 
the  table  in  his  big  topboots."  In  Florence 
they  could  not  make  up  their  minds  whether  to 


The  Way  About  Italy 9 

go  to  Rome  or  to  Venice,  and  settled  the  matter 
by  the  toss  of  a  coin.  Is  it  possible  to  care 
much  for  the  fortunes  of  two  such  heedless 
cynics  1 

It  is  such  itineraries  as  have  here  been  out- 
lined, the  picking  up  of  more  or  less  indistinct 
trails  and  following  them  a  while,  that  gives 
that  peculiar  charm  to  Italian  travel.  Not  the 
dreamy,  idling  mood  that  the  sentimentalists 
would  have  us  adopt,  but  a  burning  feverishness 
that  hardly  allows  one  to  linger  before  any 
individual  shrine.  Rather  one  is  pushed  from 
behind  and  drawn  from  in  front  to  an  ever  un- 
reachable goal.  One  never  finishes  his  Italian 
travels.  Once  the  habit  is  formed,  it  becomes  a 
disease.  We  care  not  that  Cimabue  is  no  longer 
considered  to  be  throned  the  painter  of  the  cele- 
brated Madonna  in  Santa  Maria  Novella,  or 
that  Andrea  del  Sarto  and  his  wife  are  no 
longer  Andrea  del  Sarto  and  his  wife,  so  long 
as  we  can  weave  together  a  fabric  which  pleases 
us,  regardless  of  the  new  criticism,  —  or  the 
old,  for  that  matter. 

We  used  to  go  to  the  places  marked  on  our 
railway  tickets,  and  ''  stopped  off  "  only  as  the 
regulations  allowed.  Now  we  go  where  fancy 
wills  and  stop  off  where  the  vagaries  of  our 
automobile  force  us  to.    And  we  get  more  no- 


10       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

tions  of  Italy  into  our  heads  in  six  weeks  than 
could  otherwise  be  acquired  in  six  months. 

One  need  not  go  so  very  far  afield  to  get  away 
from  the  conventional  in  Italy.  Even  that  strip 
of  coastline  running  from  Menton  in  France  to 
Reggio  in  Calabria  is  replete  with  unknown,  or 
at  least  unexploited,  little  corners,  which  have 
8.  wealth  of  picturesque  and  romantic  charm, 
and  as  noble  and  impressive  architectural  mon- 
uments as  one  may  find  in  the  peninsula. 

Com  e  hella,  say  the  French  honeymoon 
couples  as  they  enter  Italy  via  the  Milan  Ex- 
press over  the  Simplon;  com  e  hella,  say  one 
and  all  who  have  trod  or  ridden  the  highways 
and  byways  up  and  down  and  across  Italy; 
com  e  hella  is  the  paean  of  every  one  who  has 
made  the  Italian  round,  whether  they  have  been 
frequenters  of  the  great  cities  and  towns,  or 
have  struck  out  across  country  for  themselves 
and  found  some  creeper-clad  ruin,  or  a  villa 
in  some  ideally  romantic  situation  which  the 
makers  of  guide-books  never  heard  of,  or  have 
failed  to  mention.  All  this  is  possible  to  the 
traveller  by  road  in  Italy,  and  one's  only  un- 
pleasant memories  are  of  the  huona  mano  of 
the  brigands  of  hotel  servants  which  infest  the 
large  cities  and  towns  —  about  the  only  brig- 
ands one  meets  in  Italy  to-day. 


The  Way  About  Italy  11 

The  real  Italy,  the  old  Italy,  still  exists, 
though  half  hidden  by  the  wall  of  progress  built 
up  by  young  liberty-loving  Italy  since  the  days 
of  Garibaldi ;  but  one  has  to  step  aside  and  look 
for  the  old  regime.  It  cannot  always  be  discov- 
ered from  the  window  of  a  railway  carriage  or 
a  hotel  omnibus,  though  it  is  often  brought  into 
much  plainer  view  from  the  cushions  of  an  au- 
tomobile. ''  Motor  Cars  and  the  Genus  Loci  " 
was  a  very  good  title  indeed  for  an  article 
which  recently  appeared  in  a  quarterly  review. 
The  writer  ingeniously  discovered  —  as  some 
of  the  rest  of  us  have  also  —  the  real  mission 
of  the  automobile.  It  takes  us  into  the  heart 
of  the  life  of  a  country  instead  of  forcing  us 
to  travel  in  a  prison  van  on  iron  rails. 

Let  the  tourist  in  Italy  ''  do  "  —  and  "  do  '* 
as  thoroughly  as  he  likes  —  the  galleries  of 
Rome,  Florence,  Siena,  and  Venice,  but  let  him 
not  neglect  the  more  appealing  and  far  more 
natural  uncontaminated  beauties  of  the  coun- 
tryside and  the  smaller  towns,  such  as  Caserta, 
Arezzo,  Lucca,  Montepulciana,  Barberino  in 
Mugello  and  Ancona,  and  as  many  others  as  fit 
well  into  his  itinerary  from  the  Alps  to  ^tna 
or  from  Reggio  to  Ragusa.  They  lack  much 
of  the  popular  renown  that  the  great  centres 
possess,  but  they  still  have  an  aspect  of  the 


12       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

reality  of  the  life  of  medisevalism  which  is  diffi- 
cult to  trace  when  surrounded  by  all  the  up-to- 
date  and  supposedly  necessitous  things  which 
are  burying  Rome's  ruins  deeper  than  they 
have  ever  yet  been  buried.  It  is  difficult  indeed 
to  imagine  what  old  Rome  was  like,  with  Pras- 
cati  given  over  to  "  hunt  parties  "  and  the 
hotel  drawing  rooms  replete  with  Hungarian 
orchestras.    It  is  difficult,  indeed ! 

Italy  is  a  vast  kinetoscope  of  heterogeneous 
sights  and  scenes  and  memories  and  traditions 
such  as  exist  on  no  other  part  of  the  earth's 
surface.  Of  this  there  is  no  doubt,  and  yet  each 
for  himself  may  find  something  new,  whether 
it  is  a  supposed  ''  secret  of  the  Vatican  "  or  an 
unheard  of  or  forgotten  romance  of  an  Italian 
villa.  This  is  the  genus  loci  of  Italy,  the  charm 
of  Italy,  the  unresistible  lodestone  which  draws 
tens  of  thousands  and  perhaps  hundreds  of 
thousands  thither  each  year,  from  England  and 
America.  Italy  is  the  most  romantic  touring 
ground  in  all  the  world,  and,  though  its  high- 
ways and  byways  are  not  the  equal  in  surface 
of  the  ''  good  roads  "  of  France,  they  are,  in 
good  weather,  considerably  better  than  the  au- 
tomobilist  from  overseas  is  used  to  at  home. 
At  one  place  we  found  fifty  kilometres  of  the 
worst  road  we  had  ever  seen  in  Italy  immedi- 


The  Way  About  Italy  13 

ately  followed  by  a  like  stretch  of  the  best. 
The  writer  does  not  jprofess  to  be  able  to  ex- 
plain the  anomaly.  In  general  the  roads  in  the 
mountains  are  better  than  those  at  low  level, 
so  one  should  plan  his  itineraries  accordingly. 

The  towns  and  cities  of  Italy  are  very  well 
known  to  all  well-read  persons,  but  of  the  coun- 
tryside and  its  manners  and  customs  this  is  not 
so  true.  Modern  painters  have  limned  the  out- 
lines of  San  Marco  at  Venice  and  the  Castle  of 
St.  Angelo  at  Rome,  on  countless  canvases,  and 
pictures  of  the  '  ^  Grand  Canal  ' '  and  of  * '  Vesu- 
vius in  Eruption  "  are  familiar  enough;  but 
paintings  of  the  little  hill  towns,  the  wayside 
shrines,  the  olive  and  orange  groves,  and  vine- 
yards, or  a  sketch  of  some  quaint  roadside  al- 
bergo  made  whilst  the  automobile  was  tempo- 
rarily held  up  by  a  tire  blow  out,  is  quite  as 
interesting  and  not  so  common.  There  is  many 
a  pine-clad  slope,  convent-crowned  hill-top  and 
castled  crag  in  Italy  as  interesting  as  the  more 
famous,  historic  sites. 

To  appreciate  Italy  one  must  know  it  from 
all  sides  and  in  all  its  moods.  The  hurried  itin- 
erary which  comprises  getting  off  the  ship 
at  Naples,  doing  the  satellite  resorts  and 
"  sights  "  which  fringe  Naples  Bay,  and  so  on 
to    Rome,    Florence    and   Venice,    and   thence 


14       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

across  Switzerland,  France  and  home  is  too  fre- 
quently a  reality.  The  automobilist  may  have 
a  better  time  of  it  if  he  will  but  be  rational; 
but,  for  the  hurried  flight  above  outlined,  he 
should  leave  his  automobile  at  home  and  make 
the  trip  by  *'  train  de  luxe."  It  would  be  less 
costly  and  he  would  see  quite  as  much  of  Italy 
—  perhaps  more.  The  leisurely  automobile 
traveller  who  rolls  gently  in  and  out  of  hitherto 
unheard  of  little  towns  and  villages  is  in  an- 
other class  and  learns  something  of  a  beloved 
land  and  the  life  of  the  people  that  the  hurried 
tourist  will  never  suspect. 

The  genuine  vagabond  traveller,  even  though 
he  may  be  a  lover  of  art  and  architecture,  and 
knows  just  how  bad  Canova's  lions  really  are, 
is  quite  as  much  concerned  with  the  question  as 
to  why  Italians  drink  wine  red  instead  of  white, 
or  why  the  sunny  Sicilian  will  do  more  quar- 
relling and  less  shovelling  of  dirt  on  a  railroad 
or  a  canal  job  than  his  northern  brother.  It 
is  interesting,  too,  to  learn  something  —  by 
stumbling  upon  it  as  we  did  —  about  Carrara 
marble,  Leghorn  hats  and  macaroni,  which  used 
to  form  the  bulk  of  the  cargoes  of  ships  sailing 
from  Italian  ports  to  those  of  the  United  States. 
The  Canovas,  like  the  Botticellis,  are  always 
there  —  it  is  forbidden  to  export  art  treasures 


The  Way  About  Italy  15 

from  Italy,  so  one  can  always  return  to  confirm 
his  suspicions  —  but  the  marble  has  found  its 
competitor  elsewhere,  Leghorn  hats  are  now 
made  in  far  larger  quantities  in  Philadelphia, 
and  the  macaroni  sent  out  from  Brooklyn  in 
a  month  would  keep  all  Italy  from  starvation 
for  a  year. 

The  Italian  picture  and  its  framing  is  like  no 
other,  whether  one  commences  with  the  snow- 
crested  Alps  of  Piedmont  and  finishes  with 
Bella  Napoli  and  its  dazzling  blue,  or  whether 
he  finishes  with  the  Queen  of  the  Adriatic  and 
begins  with  Capri.  It  is  always  Italy.  The 
same  is  not  true  of  France.  Provence  might, 
at  times,  and  in  parts,  be  taken  for  Spain,  Al- 
geria or  Corsica;  Britanny  for  Ireland  and 
Lorraine  for  Germany.  On  the  contrary  Pied- 
mont, in  Italy,  is  nothing  at  all  like  neighbour- 
ing Dauphine  or  Savoie,  nor  is  Liguria  like 
Nice. 

As  for  the  disadvantages  of  Italian  travel, 
they  do  undoubtedly  exist,  as  well  for  the  auto- 
mobilist  as  for  him  who  travels  by  rail.  In  the 
first  place,  in  spite  of  the  picturesque  charm  of 
the  Italian  countryside,  the  roads  are,  as  a 
whole,  not  by  any  means  the  equal  of  those  of 
the  rest  of  Europe  —  always,  of  course,  except- 
ing Spain.    They  are  far  better  indeed  in  Al- 


16       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

geria  and  Tunisia.  Hotel  expenses  are  double 
what  they  are  in  France  for  the  same  sort  of 
accommodation  —  for  the  automobilist  at  any 
rate.  Garage  accommodation  is  seldom,  if  ever, 
to  be  found  in  the  hotel,  at  least  not  of  a  satis- 
factory kind,  and  when  found  costs  anywhere 
from  two  to  three,  or  even  five,  francs  a  night. 
Grasoline  and  oil  are  held  at  inflated  figures, 
though  no  one  seems  to  know  who  gets  all  the 
profit  that  comes  from  the  fourteen  to  eighteen 
francs  which  the  Italian  garage  keeper  or 
grocer  or  druggist  takes  for  the  usual  five  gal- 
lons. 

With  this  information  as  a  forewarning  the 
stranger  automobilist  in  Italy  will  meet  with 
no  undue  surprises  except  that  bad  weather,  if 
he  happens  to  strike  a  spell,  will  considerably 
affect  a  journey  that  would  otherwise  have 
proved  enjoyable. 

The  climate  of  Italy  is  far  from  being  uni- 
form. It  is  not  all  orange  groves  and  palm 
trees.  Throughout  Piedmont  and  Lombardy 
snow  and  frost  are  the  frequent  accompani- 
ments of  winter.  On  the  other  hand  the  sum- 
mers are  hot  and  prolific  in  thunder  storms. 
In  Venetia,  thanks  to  the  influence  of  the  Adri- 
atic, the  climate  is  more  equable.  In  the  centre, 
Tuscany  has  a  more  nearly  regular  climate. 


The  Way  About  Italy  17 

From  Naples  south,  one  encounters  almost  a 
North  African  temperature,  and  the  south  wind 
of  the  desert,  the  sirocco  here  blows  as  it  does 
in  Algeria  and  Tunisia,  though  tempered  some- 
what by  having  crossed  the  Mediterranean. 

There  are  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  varieties 
of  mosquitoes  in  Italy,  but  with  most  of  them 
their  singing  is  worse  than  their  stinging.  The 
Pontine  Marches  have  long  been  the  worst 
breeding  places  for  mosquitoes  known  to  a  suf- 
fering world.  The  mosquitoes  of  this  region 
were  supposed  to  have  been  transmitters  of 
malaria,  so  one  day  some  Italian  physicians 
caught  a  good  round  batch  of  them  and  sent 
them  up  into  a  little  village  in  the  Apennines 
whose  inhabitants  had  never  known  malaria. 
Straightway  the  whole  population  began  to 
shake  with  the  ague.  That  settled  it,  the  mos- 
quito was  a  breeder  of  disease. 

The  topography  of  Italy  is  of  an  extraordi- 
nary variety.  The  plains  and  wastes  of  Cala- 
bria are  the  very  antitheses  of  that  semi-cir- 
cular mountain  rampart  of  the  Alps  which 
defines  the  northern  frontier  or  of  the  great 
solid  mass  of  the  Apennines  in  Central  Italy. 
Italy  by  no  means  covers  the  vast  extent  of 
territory  that  the  stranger  at  first  presupposes. 
From  the  northern  frontier  of  Lombardy  to  the 


18       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

toe  of  the  Calabrian  boot  is  considerable  of  a 
stretch  to  be  sure,  but  for  all  that  the  actual 
area  is  quite  restricted,  when  compared  with 
that  of  other  great  continental  powers.  This 
is  all  the  more  reason  for  the  automobilist  to 
go  comfortably  along  and  not  speed  up  at  every 
town  and  village  he  comes  to. 

The  automobilist  in  Italy  should  make  three 
vows  before  crossing  the  frontier.  The  first 
not  to  attempt  to  see  everything;  the  second 
to  review  some  of  the  things  he  has  already 
seen  or  heard  of;  and  the  third  to  leave  the 
beaten  track  at  least  once  and  launch  out  for 
himself  and  try  to  discover  something  that  none 
of  his  friends  have  ever  seen. 

The  beaten  track  in  Italy  is  not  by  any  means 
an  uninteresting  itinerary,  and  there  is  no 
really  unbeaten  track  any  more.  What  one  can 
do,  and  does,  if  he  is  imbued  with  the  proper 
spirit  of  travel,  is  to  cover  as  much  little-trav- 
elled ground  as  his  instincts  prompt  him.  Be- 
tween Florence  and  Rome  and  between  Rome 
and  Naples  there  is  quite  as  much  to  interest 
even  the  conventional  traveller  as  in  those 
cities  themselves,  if  he  only  knows  where  to 
look  for  it  and  knows  the  purport  of  all  the 
remarkable  and  frequent  historical  monuments 
continually  springing  into  view.     Obscure  vil- 


The  Way  About  Italy  19 

lages,  with  good  country  inns  where  the  arrival 
of  foreigners  is  an  event,  are  quite  as  likely  to 
offer  pleasurable  sensations  as  those  to  be  had 
at  the  six,  eight  or  ten  franc  a  day  pension  of 
the  cities. 

The  landscape  motives  for  the  artist,  to  be 
found  in  Italy,  are  the  most  varied  of  any  coun- 
try on  earth.  It  is  a  wide  range  indeed  from 
the  vineyard  covered  hillsides  of  Vicenza  to  the 
more  grandiose  country  around  Bologna,  to  the 
dead-water  lagoons  before  Venice  is  reached, 
to  the  rocky  coasts  of  Calabria,  or  to  the  chest- 
nut groves  of  ^tna  and  the  Roman  Campagna. 

The  travelling  American  or  Englishman  is 
himself  responsible  for  many  of  the  inconve- 
niences to  which  he  is  subjected  in  Italy.  The 
Italian  may  know  how  to  read  his  own  class 
distinctions,  but  all  Americans  are  alike  to  him. 
Englishmen,  as  a  rule,  know  the  language  better 
and  they  get  on  better  —  very  little.  The 
Frenchman  and  the  German  have  very  little 
trouble.    They  have  less  false  pride  than  we. 

The  American  who  comes  to  Italy  in  an  auto- 
mobile represents  untold  wealth  to  the  simple 
Italian ;  those  who  drive  in  two  horse  carriages 
and  stop  at  big  hotels  are  classed  in  the  same 
category.  One  may  scarcely  buy  anything  in 
a  decent  shop,  or  enter  an  ambitious  looking 


20       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

cafe,  but  that  the  hangers-on  outside  mark  him 
for  a  millionaire,  while,  if  he  is  so  foolish  as  to 
fling  handfuls  of  soldi  to  an  indiscriminate 
crowd  of  ragamuffins  from  the  balcony  of  his 
hotel,  he  will  be  pestered  half  to  death  as  long 
as  he  stays  in  the  neighbourhood.  And  he  de- 
serves what  he  gets !  There  is  a  way  to  coun- 
teract all  this  but  each  must  learn  it  for  him- 
self.   There  is  no  set  formula. 

Beggars  are  importunate  in  certain  places  in 
Italy  be-ridden  of  tourists,  but  after  all  no  more 
so  than  elsewhere,  and  the  travelling  public,  as 
much  as  anything  else,  conduces  to  the  contin- 
ued existence  of  the  plague.  If  Italy  had  to 
choose  between  suppressing  beggars  or  fore- 
going the  privilege  of  having  strangers  from 
overseas  coming  to  view  her  monuments  she 
would  very  soon  choose  the  former.  If  the 
beggars  could  not  make  a  living  at  their  little 
game  they  too  would  stop  of  their  own  accord. 
The  question  resolves  itself  into  a  strictly  per- 
sonal one.  If  it  pleases  you  to  throw  pennies 
from  your  balcony,  your  carriage  or  your  auto- 
mobile to  a  gathered  assembly  of  curious,  do 
so !  It  is  the  chief  means  of  proving,  to  many, 
that  they  are  superior  to  ^ '  foreigners !  ' '  The 
little-travelled  person  does  this  everywhere,  — 
on  the  terrace  of  Shepheard's  at  Cairo,  on  the 


The  Way  About  Italy 21 

boulevard  cafe  terraces  at  Algiers,  from  the 
deck  of  his  ship  at  Port  Said,  from  the  tables 
even  of  the  Cafe  de  la  Paix ;  —  so  why  should 
he  not  do  it  at  Naples,  at  Venice,  at  Rome? 
For  no  reason  in  the  world,  except  that  it's  a 
nuisance  to  other  travellers,  decidedly  an  ob- 
jectionable practice  to  hotel,  restaurant  and 
shop  keepers,  and  a  cause  of  great  annoyance 
and  trouble  to  police  and  civic  authorities.  The 
following  pages  have  been  written  and  illus- 
trated as  a  truthful  record  of  what  two  inde- 
fatigable automobile  travellers  have  seen  and 
felt. 

"We  were  dutifully  ravished  by  the  splendours 
of  the  Venetian  palaces,  and  duly  impressed  by 
the  massiveness  of  Sant'  Angelo;  but  we  were 
more  pleased  by  far  in  coming  unexpectedly 
upon  the  Castle  of  Fenis  in  the  Valle  d'Aoste, 
one  of  the  finest  of  all  feudal  fortresses;  or 
the  Castle  of  Rimini  sitting  grim  and  sad  in  the 
Adriatic  plain;  or  the  Villa  Cesarini  outside 
of  Perugia,  which  no  one  has  ever  reckoned  as 
a  wonder-work  of  architecture,  but  which  all  the 
same  shows  all  of  the  best  of  Italian  villa  ele- 
ments. 

Our  taste  has  been  catholic,  and  the  impres- 
sions set  forth  herein  are  our  own.  Others 
might  have  preferred  to  admire  some  splendid 


22       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

church  whilst  we  were  speculating  as  to  some 
great  barbican  gateway  or  watch  tower.  A 
saintly  shrine  might  have  for  some  more  appeal 
than  a  hillside  fortified  Rocca;  and  again  some 
convent  nunnery  might  have  a  fascination  that 
a  rare  old  Eenaissance  house,  now  turned  into 
a  macaroni  factory,  or  a  wine  press,  might  not. 


CHAPTER   n 

OP   ITALIAN    MEN   AND    MANNEES 

Italian  politics  have  ever  been  a  game  of 
intrigue,  and  of  the  exploiting  of  personal  am- 
bition. It  was  so  in  the  days  of  the  Popes;  it 
is  so  in  these  days  of  premiers.  The  pilots  of 
the  ships  of  state  have  never  had  a  more  peril- 
ous passage  to  navigate  than  when  manoeuvring 
in  the  waters  of  Italian  politics. 

There  is  great  and  jealous  rivalry  between 
the  cities  of  Italy.  The  Roman  hates  the  Pied- 
montese  and  the  Neapolitan  and  the  Bolognese, 
and  they  all  hate  the  Roman,  —  capital  though 
Rome  is  of  Church  and  State. 

The  Evolution  of  Nationality  has  ever  been 
an  interesting  subject  to  the  stranger  in  a 
strange  land.  When  the  national  spirit  at  last 
arose  Italy  had  reached  modern  times  and  be- 
come modern  instead  of  medisBval.  National 
character  is  born  of  environment,  but  nation- 
alism is  born  only  of  unassailable  unity,  a  thor- 

23 


24       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

ough  absorbing  of  a  love  of  country.    The  in- 
habitant of  Rouen,  the  ancient  Norman  capital, 


m      ITALY     m 

^It\lheXVlH  Century^ 


is  first,  last  and  all  the  time  a  Norman,  but  he 
is  also  French;  and  the  dweller  in  Rome  or 
Milan  is  as  much  an  Italian  as  the  Neapolitan, 
though   one   and   all   jealously   put   the    Cam- 


Of  Italian  Men  and  Manners        25 

pagna,  Piedmont,  or  the  Kingdom  of  Naples 
before  the  Italian  boot  as  a  geographical  di- 
vision. Sometimes  the  same  idea  is  carried 
into  politics,  but  not  often.  Political  warfare 
in  Italy  is  mostly  confined  to  the  unquenchable 
prejudices  existing  between  the  Quirinal  and 
the  Vatican,  a  sort  of  inter  urban  warfare, 
which  has  very  little  of  the  aspect  of  an  inter- 
national question,  except  as  some  new-come 
diplomat  disturbs  the  existing  order  of  things. 
The  Italian  has  a  fondness  for  the  Frenchman, 
and  the  French  nation.  At  least  the  Italian 
politician  has,  or  professes  to  have,  when  he 
says  to  his  constituency:  ^'  I  wish  always  for 
happy  peaceful  relations  with  France  .  .  .  but 
I  don't  forget  Magenta  and  Solferino." 

The  Italians  of  the  north  are  the  emigrating 
Italians,  and  make  one  of  the  best  classes  of 
labourers,  when  transplanted  to  a  foreign  soil. 
The  steamship  recruiting  agents  placard  every 
little  background  village  of  Tuscany  and  Lom- 
bardy  with  the  attractions  of  New  York,  Chi- 
cago, New  Orleans  and  Buenos  Ayres,  and  a 
hundred  or  so  lire  paid  into  the  agent's  coffers 
does  the  rest. 

Calabria  and  Sicily  are  less  productive.  The 
sunny  Sicilian  always  wants  to  take  his  gaudily- 
painted  farm  cart  with  him,  and  as  there  is  no 


26       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

economic  place  for  such  a  useless  thing  in 
America,  he  contents  himself  with  a  twenty- 
hour  sea  voyage  to  Tunisia  where  he  can  easily 
get  back  home  again  with  his  cart,  if  he  doesn't 
like  it. 

Every  Italian  peasant,  man,  woman  and 
child,  knows  America.  You  may  not  pass  the 
night  at  Barberino  di  Mugello,  may  not  stop 
for  a  glass  of  wine  at  the  Osteria  on  the  Futa 
Pass,  or  for  a  repast  at  some  classically  named 
borgo  on  the  Voie  Emilia  but  that  you  will  set 
up  longings  in  the  heart  of  the  natives  who 
stand  around  in  shoals  and  gaze  at  your  auto- 
mobile. 

They  all  have  relatives  in  America,  in  New 
York,  New  Orleans  or  Cripple  Creek,  or  per- 
haps Brazil  or  the  Argentine,  and,  since  money 
comes  regularly  once  or  twice  a  year,  and  since 
thousands  of  touring  Americans  climb  about 
the  rocks  at  Capri  or  drive  fire-spouting  auto- 
mobiles up  through  the  Casentino,  they  know 
the  new  world  as  a  land  of  dollars,  and  dream 
of  the  day  when  they  will  be  able  to  pick 
them  up  in  the  streets  paved  with  gold.  That 
is  a  fairy-tale  of  America  that  still  lives  in 
Italy. 

Besides  emigrating  to  foreign  lands,  the  Ital- 
ian peasant  moves  about  his  own  country  to  an 


Barberino    di    Mu2eUo 


Of  Italian  Men  and  Manners        27 

astonishing  extent,  often  working  in  the  coun- 
try in  summer,  and  in  the  towns  the  rest  of  the 
time  as  a  labourer,  or  artisan.  The  typical 
Italian  of  the  poorer  class  is  of  course  the 
peasant  of  the  countryside,  for  it  is  a  notable 
fact  that  the  labourer  of  the  cities  is  as  likely 
to  be  of  one  nationality  as  another.  Different 
sections  of  Italy  have  each  their  distinct  classes 
of  country  folk.  There  are  landowners,  ten- 
ants, others  who  work  their  land  on  shares, 
mere  labourers  and  again  simple  farming  folk 
who  hire  others  to  aid  them  in  their  work. 

The  braccianti,  or  farm  labourers,  are  worthy 
fellows  and  seemingly  as  intelligent  workers  as 
their  class  elsewhere.  In  Calabria  they  are 
probably  less  accomplished  than  in  the  region 
of  the  great  areas  of  worked  land  in  central 
Italy  and  the  valley  of  the  Po. 

The  mezzadria  system  of  working  land  on 
shares  is  found  all  over  Italy.  On  a  certain 
prearranged  basis  of  working,  the  landlord  and 
tenant  divide  the  produce  of  the  farm.  There 
are,  accordingly,  no  starving  Italians,  a  living 
seemingly  being  assured  the  worker  in  the  soil. 
In  Ireland  where  it  is  rental  pure  and  simple, 
and  foreclosure  and  eviction  if  the  rent  is  not 
promptly  paid,  the  reverse  is  the  case.  Land- 
lordism of  even  the  paternal  kind  —  if  there  is 


28       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

such  a  thing  —  is  bad,  but  co-operation  between 
landlord  and  tenant  seems  to  work  well  in  Italy. 
It  probably  would  elsewhere. 

The  average  Italian  small  farm,  or  podere, 
worked  only  by  the  family,  is  a  very  unambi- 
tious affair,  but  it  produces  a  livelihood.  The 
house  is  nothing  of  the  vine-clad  Kent  or  Sur- 
rey order,  and  the  principal  apartment  is  the 
kitchen.  One  or  two  bedrooms  complete  its 
appointments,  with  a  stone  terrace  in  front  of 
the  door  as  it  sits  cosily  backed  up  against  some 
pleasant  hillside. 

There  are  few  gimcracks  and  dust-harbour- 
ing rubbish  within,  and  what  simple  furniture 
there  is  is  clean  —  above  all  the  bed-linen.  The 
stable  is  a  building  apart,  and  there  is  usually 
some  sort  of  an  out-house  devoted  to  wine- 
pressing  and  the  like. 

A  kitchen  garden  and  an  orchard  are  near  by, 
and  farther  afield  the  larger  area  of  workable 
land.  A  thousand  or  twelve  hundred  lire  a 
year  of  ready  money  passing  through  the  hands 
of  the  head  of  the  family  will  keep  father, 
mother  and  two  children  going,  besides  which 
there  is  the  "  living,"  the  major  part  of  the 
eatables  and  drinkables  coming  off  the  property 
itself. 

The  Italians  are  as  cleanly  in  their  mode  of 


Of  Italian  Men  and  Manners        29 

life  as  the  people  of  any  other  nation  in  sim- 
ilar walks.  Let  us  not  be  prejudiced  against 
the  Italian,  but  make  some  allowance  for  sur- 
rounding conditions.  In  the  twelfth  century 
in  Italy  the  grossness  and  uncleanliness  were 
incredible,  and  the  manners  laid  down  for  be- 
haviour at  table  make  us  thankful  that  we  have 
forks,  pocket-handkerchiefs,  soap  and  other 
blessings!  But  then,  where  were  we  in  the 
twelfth  century ! 

No  branch  of  Italian  farming  is  carried  on 
on  a  very  magnificent  scale.  In  America  the 
harvests  are  worked  with  mechanical  reapers; 
in  England  it  is  done  with  sickle  and  flail  or 
out  of  date  patterns  of  American  machines,  but 
in  Italy  the  peasant  still  works  with  the  agri- 
cultural implements  of  Bible  times,  and  works 
as  hard  to  raise  and  harvest  one  bushel  of  wheat 
as  a  Kansas  farmer  does  to  grow,  harvest  and 
market  six.  The  American  farmer  has  become 
a  financier;  the  Italian  is  still  in  the  bread- 
winning  stage.  Five  hundred  labourers  in  Da- 
kota, of  all  nationalities  under  the  sun,  be  it 
remarked,  on  the  Dalrymple  farm,  cut  more 
wheat  than  any  five  thousand  peasants  in  Eu- 
rope. The  peasant  of  Europe  is  chiefly  in  the 
stage  of  begging  the  Lord  for  his  daily  bread, 
but  as  soon  as  he  gets  out  west  in  America,  he 


30       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

buys  store  things,  automatic  pianos  and  auto- 
mobile buggies.    No  wonder  he  emigrates! 

The  Italian  peasant  doesn't  live  so  badly  as 
many  think,  though  true  it  is  that  meat  is  rare 
enough  on  his  table.  He  eats  something  more 
than  a  greasy  rag  and  an  olive,  as  the  well-fed 
Briton  would  have  us  believe;  and  something 
more  than  macaroni,  as  the  American  fondly 
thinks.  For  one  thing,  he  has  his  eternal  min- 
estra,  a  good,  thick  soup  of  many  things  which 
Anglo-Saxons  would  hardly  know  how  to  turn 
into  as  wholesome  and  nourishing  a  broth; 
meat  of  any  kind,  always  what  the  French  call 
pate  d'ltalie,  and  herbs  of  the  field.  The  maca- 
roni, the  olives,  the  cheese  and  the  wine  — 
always  the  wine  —  come  after.  Not  bad  that ; 
considerably  better  than  corned  beef  and  pie, 
and  far,  far  better  than  boiled  mutton  and  cauli- 
flower as  a  steady  diet!  Britons  and  Ameri- 
cans should  wake  up  and  learn  something  about 
gastronomy. 

The  general  expenses  of  middle-class  domes- 
tic town  life  in  Italy  are  lower  than  in  most 
other  countries,  and  the  necessities  for  outlay 
are  smaller.  The  Italian,  even  comfortably 
off  in  the  working  class,  is  less  inclined  to  spend 
money  on  luxurious  trivialities  than  most  of 
us.    He  prefers  to  save  or  invest  his  surplus. 


Of  Italian  Men  and  Manners        31 

One  takes  central  Italy  as  tjrpical  because,  if 
it  is  not  the  most  prosperous,  considered  from 
an  industrial  point  of  view,  it  is  still  the  region 
endowed  with  the  greatest  natural  wealth.  By 
this  is  meant  that  the  conditions  of  life  are 
there  the  easiest  and  most  comfortable, 

A  middle  class  town  family  with  an  income 
of  six  or  seven  thousand  lire  spends  very  little 
on  rent  to  begin  with ;  pretence  based  upon  the 
size  of  the  front  door  knob  cuts  no  figure  in  the 
Italian  code  of  pride.  This  family  will  live  in 
a  flat,  not  in  a  villini  as  separate  town  houses 
are  called.  One  sixth  of  the  family  income 
will  go  for  rent,  and  though  the  apartment  may 
be  bare  and  grim  and  lack  actual  luxury  it  will 
possess  amplitude,  ten  or  twelve  rooms,  and  be 
near  the  centre  of  the  town.  This  applies  in 
the  smaller  cities  of  from  twenty  to  fifty  thou- 
sand inhabitants.  With  very  little  modification 
the  same  will  apply  in  Rome  or  Naples,  and, 
with  perhaps  none  at  all,  at  Florence. 

The  all  important  servant  question  would 
seem  to  be  more  easily  solved  in  Italy  than 
elsewhere,  but  it  is  commonly  the  custom  to 
treat  Italian  servants  as  one  of  the  family  — 
so  far  as  certain  intimacies  and  affections  go 
—  though,  perhaps  this  of  itself  has  some  unan- 
ticipated objections.    The  Italian  servants  have 


32       Italian  Highways  and  Bjrways 

the  reputation  of  becoming  like  feudal  retain- 
ers; that  is,  they  ''  stay  on  the  job,"  and  from 
eight  to  twenty-five  lire  a  month  pays  their 
wages.  In  reality  they  become  almost  personal 
or  body  servants,  for  in  few  Italian  cities,  and 
certainly  not  in  Italian  towns,  are  they  obliged 
to  occupy  themselves  with  the  slogging  work 
of  the  London  slavey,  or  the  New  York  chore- 
woman.  An  Italian  servant,  be  she  young  or 
old,  however,  has  a  seeming  disregard  for  a 
uniform  or  badge  of  servitude,  and  is  often 
rather  sloppy  in  appearance.  She  is,  for  that, 
all  the  more  picturesque  since,  if  untidy,  she  is 
not  apt  to  be  loathsomely  dirty  in  her  apparel 
or  her  manner  of  working. 

The  Italian  of  all  ranks  is  content  with  two 
meals  a  day,  as  indeed  we  all  ought  to  be.  The 
continental  morning  coffee  and  roll,  or  more 
likely  a  sweet  cake,  is  universal  here,  though 
sometimes  the  roll  is  omitted.  Lunch  is  com- 
paratively a  light  meal,  and  dinner  at  six  or 
seven  is  simply  an  amplified  lunch.  The  chianti 
of  Tuscany  is  the  usual  wine  drunk  at  all  meals, 
or  a  substitute  for  it  less  good,  though  all  red 
wine  in  Italy  seems  to  be  good,  cheap  and  pure. 
Adulteration  is  apparently  too  costly  a  process. 
Wine  and  biscuits  take  the  place  of  afternoon 
tea  —  and   with    advantage.     The   wine   com- 


32  i 

lion  of  bt':  ;<lal  retain- 

,t(l  ii'om 

s    their 

'iial 

md 

iiertainly  ?  ^e<l 

■U   tiji-  '.Tk 

I  5  tli«  Ne\\  •re- 

wo;  servant,  be  .shi  i^  or 

old,  1'  a  seeming  disregard  for  a 

nnifoui'.  -jv  badge  of  servitude,  and  is  often 
ratiier  bloppy  in  appearance.    She  is,  for  that, 

all  the  more  pie^i??Ml«\^^5ELtE?^idy.  slie  is 
not  apt  to  be  loathsomely  dirty  in  her  apparel 
or  her  manner  of  working. 

The  Italian  of  all  ranks  is  content  with  two 
meals  a  day,  as  indeed  we  all  ought  to  he.    The 
continental  morning  coffee  and  roll,  or  more 
likely  a  sweet  cake,  is  universal  here,  though 
sometimes  the  roll  is  omitted.    Lunch  is  com- 
paratively a  light  meal,  and  dinner  at  six  or 
is  simply  an  amplified  lunch.    The  chianti 
.    cany  is  the  usual  wine  drunk  at  all  meals, 
r^r  H  Rubstitute  for  it  less  good,  though  all  red 
'  Italy  seems  to  be  good,  cheap  and  pure. 
A«;  "on  is  apy)arently  too  costly  a  process. 

Wi  biscuits  take  the  place  of  aftenioon 

tea  '    with    advantage.     The    wine   com- 


Of  Italian  Men  and  Manners        33 

monly  used  en  famille  is  seldom  bought  at  more 
than  1.50  lira  the  flagon  of  two  and  a  half  litres, 
and  can  be  had  for  half  that  price.  Sugar  and 
salt  are  heavily  taxed,  and  though  that  may  be 
a  small  matter  with  regard  to  salt  it  is  some- 
thing of  an  item  with  sugar. 

Wood  is  almost  entirely  the  fuel  for  cooking 
and  heating,  and  the  latter  is  very  inefficient 
coming  often  from  simple  braziers  or  scaldini 
filled  with  embers  and  set  about  where  they  are 
supposed  to  do  the  most  good.  If  one  does  not 
expire  from  the  cold  before  the  last  spark  has 
departed  from  the  already  dying  embers  when 
they  are  brought  in,  he  orders  another  and 
keeps  it  warm  by  enveloping  it  as  much  as  pos- 
sible with  his  person.  Italian  heating  arrange- 
ments are  certainly  more  economical  than  those 
in  Britain,  but  are  even  less  efficient,  as  most 
of  the  caloric  value  of  wood  and  coal  goes  up 
the  chimney  with  the  smoke.  The  American 
system  of  steam  heat  —  on  the  ' '  chauffage  cen- 
trale  "  plan  —  will  some  day  strike  Europe, 
and  then  the  householder  will  buy  his  heat  on 
the  water,  gas  and  electric  light  plan.  Till  then 
southern  Europe  will  freeze  in  winter. 

In  Rome  and  Florence  it  is  a  very  difficult 
proceeding  to  be  able  to  control  enough  heat 
—  by  any  means  whatever  —  to  properly  warm 


34       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

an  apartment  in  winter.  If  the  apartment  has 
no  chimney,  and  many  haven't  in  the  living 
rooms,  one  perforce  falls  back  again  on  the 
classic  scaldini  placed  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
and  fired  up  with  charcoal.  Then  you  huddle 
around  it  like  Indians  in  a  wigwam  and,  if  you 
don't  take  a  short  route  into  eternity  by  as- 
phyxiation, your  extremities  ultimately  begin 
to  warm  up ;  when  they  begin  to  get  chilly  again 
you  recommence  the  firing  up.  This  is  more 
than  difficult;   it  is  inconvenient  and  annoying. 

The  manners  and  customs  of  the  Italians  of 
the  great  cities  differ  greatly  from  those  of  the 
towns  and  villages,  and  those  of  the  Romans 
differ  greatly  from  those  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Milan,  Turin  or  Genoa.  The  Roman,  for  in- 
stance, hates  rain  —  and  he  has  his  share  of 
it  too  —  and  accordingly  is  more  often  seen 
with  an  umbrella  than  without  one.  Brigands 
are  supposedly  the  only  Italians  who  don't  own 
an  umbrella,  though  why  the  distinction  is  so 
apparent  a  mere  dweller  beyond  the  frontier 
cannot  answer. 

In  Rome,  in  Naples,  and  in  all  the  cities  and 
large  towns  of  Italy,  the  population  rises  early, 
but  they  don't  get  down  to  business  as  speedily 
as  they  might.  The  Italian  has  not,  however, 
a  prejudice  against  new  ideas,  and  the  Italian 


Of  Italian  Men  and  Manners        35 

cities  and  large  towns  are  certainly  very  much 
up-to-date.  Italians  are  at  heart  democrats, 
and  rank  and  title  have  little  effect  upon 
them. 

The  Italian  government  still  gives  scant  con- 
sideration to  savings  banks,  but  legalizes,  au- 
thorizes and  sometimes  backs  up  lotteries.  At 
all  times  it  controls  them.  This  is  one  of  the 
inconsistencies  of  the  tunes  jDlayed  by  the  po- 
litical machine  in  modern  Italy.  Anglo-Saxons 
may  bribe  and  graft;  but  they  do  not  counte- 
nance lotteries,  which  are  the  greatest  thieving 
institutions  ever  invented  by  the  ingenuity  of 
man,  in  that  they  do  rob  the  poor.  It  is  the 
poor  almost  entirely  who  support  them.  The 
rich  have  bridge,  baccarat,  Monte  Carlo  and  the 
Stock  Exchange. 

It  may  be  bad  for  the  public,  this  legalized 
gambling,  but  all  gambling  is  bad,  and  certainly 
state-controlled  lotteries  are  no  worse  than  li- 
censed or  unlicensed  pool-rooms  and  bucket 
shops,  winked-at  dice-throwing  in  bar  rooms,  or 
crap  games  on  every  corner. 

The  Italian  administration  received  the  enor- 
mous total  of  74,400,000  lire  for  lottery  tickets 
in  1906,  and  of  this  sum  35,000,000  lire  were 
returned  in  prizes,  and  6,500,000  went  for  ex- 
penses.   A  fine  net  profit  of  33,000,000  lire,  all 


36       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

of  which,  save  what  stuck  to  the  fingers  of  the 
bureaucracy  in  passing  through,  went  to  reduce 
taxation  which  would  otherwise  be  levied. 

The  Italian  plays  the  lottery  with  the  en- 
thusiastic excitement  of  a  too  shallow  and  too 
confident  brain. 

Various  combinations  of  figures  seem  possi- 
ble of  success  to  the  Italian  who  at  the  week- 
end puts  some  bauble  in  pawn  with  the  hope 
that  something  will  come  his  way.  After  the 
drawing,  before  the  Sunday  dawns,  he  is  quite 
another  person,  considerably  less  confident  of 
anything  to  happen  in  the  future,  and  as  down- 
cast as  a  sunny  Italian  can  be. 

This  passion  for  drawing  lots  is  something 
born  in  him;  even  if  lotteries  were  not  legal- 
ized, he  would  stiil  play  lotto  in  secret,  for  in 
enthusiasm  for  games  of  chance,  he  rivals  the 
Spaniard. 

But  Italy  is  not  the  country  of  illiterates  that 
the  stranger  presupposes.  Campania  is  the 
province  where  one  finds  the  largest  number 
of  lettered,  and  Basilicate  the  least. 

Military  service  begins  and  is  compulsory  for 
all  male  Italians  at  the  age  of  twenty.  It  lasts 
for  nineteen  years,  of  which  three  only  are  in 
active  service.  The  next  five  or  six  in  the  re- 
serve, the  next  three  or  four  in  the  Militia  and 


Of  Italian  Men  and  Manners        37 

the  next  seven  in  the  "  territorial  "  Militia,  or 
landguard. 

Conscription  also  applies  to  the  naval  service 
for  the  term  of  twelve  years. 

The  military  element,  which  one  meets  all 
over  Italy,  is  astonishingly  resplendent  in  col- 
ours and  plentiful  in  numbers.  At  most,  among 
hundreds,  perhaps  thousands,  of  officers  of  all 
ranks,  there  can  hardly  be  more  than  a  few 
score  of  privates.  It  is  either  this  or  the  officers 
keep  continually  on  the  move  in  order  to  create 
an  illusion  of  numbers ! 

Class  distinctions,  in  all  military  grades,  and 
in  all  lands,  are  very  marked,  but  in  Italy  the 
obeisance  of  a  private  before  the  slightest  loose 
end  of  gold  braid  is  very  marked.  The  Italian 
private  doesn't  seem  to  mark  distinctions 
among  the  official  world  beyond  the  sight  of 
gold  braid.  A  steamboat  captain,  or  a  hall 
porter  in  some  palatial  hotel  would  quite  stun 
him. 

The  Italian  gendarmes  are  a  picturesque  and 
resplendent  detail  of  every  gathering  of  folk 
in  city,  town  or  village.  On  a  festa  they  shine 
more  grandly  than  at  other  times,  and  the  priv- 
ilege of  being  arrested  by  such  a  gorgeous  po- 
liceman must  be  accounted  as  something  of  a 
social  distinction.    The  holding  up  of  an  auto- 


38       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

mobilist  by  one  of  these  gentry  is  an  affair 
which  is  regulated  with  as  much  pomp  and  cir- 
cumstance as  the  crowning  of  a  king.  The 
writer  knows ! ! 

Just  how  far  the  Italian's  criminal  instincts 
are  more  developed  than  those  of  other  races 
and  climes  has  no  place  here,  but  is  it  not  fair 
to  suppose  that  the  half  a  million  of  Italians  — 
mostly  of  the  lower  classes  —  who  form  a  part 
of  the  population  of  cosmopolitan  New  York  are 
of  a  baser  instinct  than  any  half  million  living 
together  on  the  peninsula  1  Probably  they  are ; 
the  Italian  on  his  native  shore  does  not  strike 
us  as  a  very  villainous  individual. 

But  he  is  usually  a  lively  person;  there 
is  nothing  calm  and  sedentary  about  him; 
though  he  has  neither  the  grace  of  the  Gascon, 
the  joy  of  the  Kelt,  or  the  pretence  of  the  Pro- 
vengal,  he  does  not  seem  wicked  or  criminal, 
and  those  who  habitually  carry  dirks  and  dag- 
gers and  play  in  Black  Hand  dramas  live  for 
the  most  part  across  the  seas. 

The  Italian  secret  societies  are  supposed  hot 
beds  of  crime,  and  many  of  them  certainly  ex- 
ist, though  they  do  not  practise  their  rites  in 
the  full  limelight  of  publicity  as  they  do  in 
America. 

The  Neapolitan  Camarra  is  the  best  organ- 


Of  Italian  Men  and  Manners        39 

ized  of  all  the  Italian  secret  societies.  It  is 
divided,  military-like,  into  companies,  and  is 
recruited,  also  in  military  fashion,  to  make  up 
for  those  who  have  died  or  been  "  replaced." 

The  origin  of  secret  societies  will  probably 
never  be  known.  Italy  was  badly  prepared  to 
gather  the  fruits  to  be  derived  from  the  French 
Revolution,  and  it  is  possible  that  then  the 
activity  of  the  Carbonari,  Italy's  most  popular 
secret  society,  began.  The  Mafia  is  more  an- 
cient and  has  a  direct  ancestry  for  nearly  a 
thousand  years. 

A  hundred  and  twenty-five  years  ago  the  seed 
of  secret  dissatisfaction  had  already  been 
spread  for  years  through  Italy.  The  names  of 
the  societies  were  many.  Some  of  them  were 
called  the  Protector!  Republicani,  the  Adelfi, 
the  Spilla  Nera,  the  Fortezza,  the  Speranza, 
the  Fratelli,  and  a  dozen  other  names.  On  the 
surface  the  code  of  the  Carbonari  reads  fairly 
enough,  but  there  is  nothing  to  show  that  any 
attempt  was  made  to  stamp  out  perhaps  the 
most  generally  honoured  of  the  traditions  of 
Naples  —  that  of  homicide. 

The  long  political  blight  of  the  centuries,  the 
curse  of  feudalism,  the  rottenness  of  ignorance 
and  superstition,  had  eaten  out  nearly  every 
vestige  of  political  and  self-respecting  spirit. 


40       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

After  the  restoration  of  the  Bourbons  the  influ- 
ences of  the  secret  societies  in  Southern  Italy 
were  manifested  by  the  large  increase  of  mur- 
ders. 


CHAPTER   III 

CHIANTI    AND    MACARONI 

A  Chapter  for  Travellers  by  Road  or  Rail 

The  hotels  of  Italy  are  dear  or  not,  accord- 
ing to  whether  one  patronizes  a  certain  class 
of  establishment.  At  Trouville,  at  Aix-les- 
Bains  in  France,  at  Cernobbio  in  the  Italian 
Lake  region,  or  on  the  Quai  Parthenope  at 
Naples,  there  is  little  difference  in  price  or 
quality,  and  the  cuisine  is  always  French. 

The  automobilist  who  demands  garage  ac- 
commodation as  well  will  not  always  find  it  in 
the  big  city  hotel  in  Italy.  He  may  patronize 
the  F.  I.  A.  T.  Garages  in  Rome,  Naples,  Genoa, 
Milan,  Florence,  Venice,  Turin  and  Padua  and 
find  the  best  of  accommodation  and  fair  prices. 
For  a  demonstration  of  this  he  may  compare 
what  he  gets  and  what  he  pays  for  it  at  Pisa  — 
where  a  F.  I.  A.  T.  garage  is  wanting  —  and 
note  the  difference. 

The  real  Italian  hotel,  outside  the  great  cen- 
tres, has  less  of  a  clientele  of  snobs  and  malades 

41 


42       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

imaginaires  than  one  finds  in  France  —  in  the 
Pyrenees  or  on  the  Riviera,  or  in  Switzerland 
among  the  Alps,  and  accordingly  there  is  al- 
ways accommodation  to  be  found  that  is  in  a 
class  between  the  resplendent  gold-lace  and 
silver-gilt  establishments  of  the  resorts  and 
working-men's  lodging  houses.  True  there  is 
the  same  class  of  establishment  existing  in  the 
smaller  cities  in  France,  but  the  small  towns 
of  France  are  not  yet  as  much  "  travelled  "  by 
strangers  as  are  those  of  Italy,  and  hence  the 
difference  to  be  remarked. 

The  real  Italian  hotels,  not  the  tourist  estab- 
lishments, will  cater  for  one  at  about  one  half 
the  price  demanded  by  even  the  second  order 
of  tourist  hotels,  and  the  Italian  landlord  shows 
no  disrespect  towards  a  client  who  would  know 
his  price  beforehand  —  and  he  will  usually 
make  it  favourable  at  the  first  demand,  for  fear 
you  will  ''  shop  around  "  and  finally  go  else- 
where. 

The  automobile  here,  as  everywhere,  tends  to 
elevate  prices,  but  much  depends  on  the  indi- 
vidual attitude  of  the  traveller.  A  convincing 
air  of  independence  and  knowledge  on  the  part 
of  the  automobilist,  as  he  arrives,  will  speedily 
put  him  en  rapport  with  the  Italian  landlord. 
Look  as  wise  as  possible  and  always  ask  the 


•ri    a 

.0   and 

sorts  and 

Liue  there  ifi 

u  -^M-iKui  existing  in  the 

iiice,  but  the  small  towns 

yet  as  much  *'  travelled  "  by 

>;  are  those  of  Italy,  and  hence  the 

.....  ■  ^  ,^  .;,  not  the  tourist  estab- 

r.diMi  by  even  the  second  order 

id  the  Italian  landlord  shows 

-  a  client  who  would  know 

?  —  a  nd    be    will    usually 

die  first  demand,  for  fear 

round  "  and  finally  go  else- 


j'  !t',  .i«  ever}*where,  tends  to 

ifiuch  depends  on  the  indi- 

t ravel  ler.    A  convincing 

nd  knowledge  on  the  part 

ir^'S,  will  speedily 

.    ;  ;   IV  Italian  landlord. 

i>ossible  and  always  ask  the 


Chianti  and  Macaroni  43 

price  beforehand  —  even  while  your  motor  is 
still  chugging  away.  That  never  fails  to  bring 
things  to  a  just  and  proper  relation. 

It  is  at  Florence,  and  in  the  environs  of  Na- 
ples, of  all  the  great  tourist  centres,  that  one 
finds  the  best  fare  at  the  most  favourable 
pricee,  but  certainly  at  Rome  and  Venice,  in  the 
great  hotels,  it  is  far  less  attractive  and  a  great 
deal  dearer,  delightful  though  it  may  be  to  so- 
journ in  a  palace  of  other  days. 

The  Italian  wayside  inns,  or  trattoria,  are 
not  all  bad;  neither  are  they  all  good.  The 
average  is  better  than  it  has  usually  been  given 
the  credit  of  being,  and  the  automobile  is  doing 
much  here,  as  in  France,  towards  a  general 
improvement.  A  dozen  automobiles,  with  a 
score  or  more  of  people  aboard,  may  come  and 
go  in  a  day  to  a  little  inn  in  some  picturesque 
framing  on  a  main  road,  say  that  between  Si- 
ena and  Rome  via  Orvieto,  or  to  Finale  Marina 
or  Varazze  in  Liguria,  to  one  carriage  and  pair 
with  two  persons  and  a  driver.  Accordingly, 
,this  means  increased  prosperity  for  the  inn- 
holder,  and  he  would  be  a  dull  wit  indeed  if  he 
didn't  see  it.  He  does  see  it  in  France,  with 
a  very  clear  vision;  in  Italy,  with  a  point  of 
view  very  little  dimmed ;  in  Switzerland,  when 
the  governmental  authorities  will  let  him;  and 


44       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

in  England,  when  the  country  boniface  comes 
anywhere  near  to  being  the  intelligent  person 
that  his  continental  compeer  finds  himself. 
This  is  truth,  plain,  unvarnished  truth,  just  as 
the  writer  has  found  it.  Others  may  have  their 
own  ideas  about  the  subject,  but  this  is  the  rec- 
ord of  one  man's  experiences,  and  presumably 
of  some  others. 

The  chief  disadvantages  of  the  hotel  of  the 
small  Italian  town  are  its  often  crowded  and 
incomplete  accessories,  and  its  proximity  to  a 
stable  of  braying  donkeys,  bellowing  cows,  or 
an  industrious  blacksmith  who  begins  before 
sun-up  to  pound  out  the  same  metallic  ring  that 
his  confreres  do  all  over  the  world.  There  is 
nothing  especially  Italian  about  a  blacksmith's 
shop  in  Italy.  All  blacksmith  interiors  are  the 
same  whether  painted  by  "  Old  Crome,"  East- 
man Johnson  or  Jean  Frangois  Millet. 

The  idiosyncrasies  of  the  inns  of  the  small 
Italian  towns  do  not  necessarily  preclude  their 
offering  good  wholesome  fare  to  the  traveller, 
and  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  not  every  one 
likes  his  salad  with  garlic  in  liberal  doses  or 
his  macaroni  smothered  in  oil.  Each,  however, 
is  better  than  steak  smothered  in  onions  or 
potatoes  fried  in  lard;  any  '^  hygienist  "  will 
tell  you  that. 


Chianti  and  Macaroni  45 

The  trouble  with  most  foreigners  in  Italy, 
when  they  begin  to  talk  about  the  rancid  oil 
and  other  strange  tasting  native  products,  is 
that  they  have  not  previously  known  the  real 
thing.  Olive  oil,  real  olive  oil,  tastes  like  — 
well,  like  olive  oil.  The  other  kinds,  those  we 
are  mostly  used  to  elsewhere,  taste  like  cotton 
seed  or  peanut  oil,  which  is  probably  what  they 
are.  One  need  not  blame  the  Italian  for  this, 
though  when  he  himself  eats  of  it,  or  gives  it 
you  to  eat,  it  is  the  genuine  article.  You  may 
eat  it  or  not,  according  as  you  may  like  it  or 
not,  but  the  Italian  isn't  trying  to  poison  you 
or  work  off  anything  on  your  stomach  half  so 
bad  as  the  rancid  bacon  one  sometimes  gets  in 
Germany  or  the  kippers  of  two  seasons  ago  that 
appear  all  over  England  in  the  small  towns. 

As  before  intimated,  the  chief  trouble  with 
the  small  hotels  in  Italy  is  their  deficiencies, 
but  the  Touring  Club  Italiano  in  Italy,  like  the 
Touring  Club  de  France  in  France,  is  doing 
heroic  work  in  educating  the  country  inn- 
keeper. Why  should  not  some  similar  institu- 
tion do  the  same  thing  in  England  and  Amer- 
ica? How  many  American  country  hotels,  in 
towns  of  three  or  five  thousand  people,  in  say 
Georgia  or  Missouri,  would  get  up,  for  the 
chance  traveller  who  dropped  in  on  them  unex- 


46       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

pectedly,  a  satisfactory  meal?  Not  many,  the 
writer  fancies. 

There  is,  all  over  Europe,  a  desire  on  the 
part  of  the  small  or  large  hotel  keeper  to  fur- 
nish meals  out  of  hours,  and  often  at  no  in- 
crease in  price.  The  automobilist  appreciates 
this,  and  has  come  to  learn  in  Italy  that  the 
old  Italian  proverb  ''  cM  tardi  arriva  mal  al- 
loggia  "  is  entirely  a  myth  of  the  guide  books 
of  a  couple  of  generations  ago.  A  cold  bird, 
a  dish  of  macaroni,  a  salad  and  a  flask  of  wine 
will  try  no  inn-keeper's  capabilities,  even  with 
no  notice  beforehand.  The  Italian  would  seem- 
ingly prefer  to  serve  meals  in  this  fashion  than 
at  the  tavola  rotonda,  which  is  the  Italian's 
way  of  referring  to  a  table  d'hote.  If  you  have 
doubts  as  to  your  Italian  Boniface  treating 
you  right  as  to  price  (after  you  have  eaten  of 
his  fare)  arrange  things  beforehand  a  prezzo 
fisso  and  you  will  be  safe. 

As  for  wine,  the  cheapest  is  often  as  good 
as  the  best  in  the  small  towns,  and  is  commonly 
included  in  the  prezzo  fisso,  or  should  be.  It's 
for  you  to  see  that  you  get  it  on  that  basis  of 
reckoning. 

The  padrona  of  an  Italian  country  inn  is  very 
democratic;  he  believes  in  equality  and  fra- 
ternity, and  whether  you  come  in  a  sixty-horse 


Chianti  and  Macaroni  47 

Mercedes  or  on  donkey-back  he  sits  you  down 
in  a  room  with  a  mixed  crew  of  his  country- 
men and  pays  no  more  attention  to  you  than 
if  you  were  one  of  them.  That  is,  he  doesn't 
exploit  you  as  does  the  Swiss,  he  doesn't  over- 
charge you,  and  he  doesn't  try  to  tempt  your 
palate  with  poor  imitation  of  the  bacon  and 
eggs  of  old  England,  or  the  tenderloins  of 
America.  He  gives  you  simply  the  fare  of  the 
country  and  lets  it  go  at  that. 

Of  Italian  inns,  it  may  be  truly  said  the  day 
has  passed  when  the  traveller  wished  he  was 
a  horse  in  order  that  he  might  eat  their  food; 
oats  being  good  everywhere. 

The  fare  of  the  great  Italian  cities,  at  least 
that  of  the  hotels  frequented  by  tourists,  has 
very  little  that  is  national  about  it.  To  find 
these  one  has  to  go  elsewhere,  to  the  small  Ital- 
ian hotels  in  the  large  towns,  along  with  the 
priests  and  the  soldiers,  or  keep  to  the  b3^ways. 

The  polenta,  or  corn -meal  bread,  and  the  com- 
panatico,  sardines,  anchovies  or  herrings  which 
are  worked  over  into  a  paste  and  spread  on  it 
butter-wise,  is  everywhere  found,  and  it  is  good. 
No  osteria  or  trattoria  by  the  roadside,  but  will 
give  you  this  on  short  order  if  you  do  not  seek 
anything  more  substantial.  The  minestra,  or 
cabbage  soup  —  it  may  not  be  cabbage  at  all, 


48      Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

but  it  looks  it  —  a  sort  of  "  omnium  gatherwm  " 
soup  —  is  warming  and  filling.  Polenta,  com- 
panatico,  minestra  and  a  salad,  with  fromag- 
gio  to  wind  up  with,  and  red  wine  to  drink, 
ought  not  to  cost  more  than  a  lira,  or  a  lira  and 
a  half  at  the  most  wherever  found.  You  won't 
want  to  continue  the  same  fare  for  dinner  the 
same  day,  perhaps,  but  it  works  well  for  lunch- 
eon. 

Pay  no  charges  for  attendance.  No  one  does 
anyway,  but  tourists  of  convention.  Let  the 
huono  mano  to  the  waiter  who  serves  you  be 
the  sole  largess  that  you  distribute,  save  to  the 
man-of-all-work  who  brings  you  water  for  the 
thirsty  maw  of  your  automobile,  or  to  the  ami- 
able, sunshiny  individual  who  lugs  your  bag- 
gage up  and  down  to  and  from  your  room.  This 
is  quite  enough,  heaven  knows,  according  to  our 
democratic  ideas.  At  any  rate,  pay  only  those 
who  serve  you,  in  Italy,  as  elsewhere,  and  don't 
merely  tip  to  impress  the  waiter  with  your 
importance.    He  won't  see  it  that  way. 

The  Italian  other  go,  or  hotel  of  the  small 
town,  is  apt  to  be  poorly  and  meanly  furnished, 
even  in  what  may  be  called  ''  public  rooms,'* 
though,  indeed,  there  are  frequently  no  public 
rooms  in  many  more  or  less  pretentious  Italian 
inns.    If  there  ever  is  a  salon  or  recejition  room 


Chianti  and  Macaroni  49 

it  is  furnished  scantily  with  a  rough,  uncom- 
fortable sofa  covered  with  a  gunny  sack,  a  small 
square  of  fibre  carpeting  (if  indeed  it  has  any 
covering  whatever  to  its  chilly  tile  or  stone 
floor),  and  a  few  rush  covered  chairs.  Usually 
there  is  no  chimney,  but  there  is  always  a  stuffy 
lambrequined  curtain  at  each  window,  almost 
obliterating  any  rays  of  light  which  may  filter 
feebly  through.  In  general  the  average  recep- 
tion room  of  any  Italian  albergo  (except  those 
great  joint-stock  affairs  of  the  large  cities 
which  adopt  the  word  hotel)  is  an  uncomfort- 
able and  unwholesome  apartment.  One  regrets 
to  say  this  but  it  is  so. 

Beds  in  Italian  hotels  are  often  *'  queer," 
but  they  are  surprisingly  and  comfortably 
clean,  considering  their  antiquity.  Every  one 
who  has  observed  the  Italian  in  his  home,  in 
Italy  or  in  some  stranger  land,  even  in  a 
crowded  New  York  tenement,  knows  that  the 
Italian  sets  great  store  by  his  sleeping  arrange- 
ments and  their  proper  care.  It  is  an  ever-to- 
be-praised  and  emulated  fact  that  the  common 
people  of  continental  Europe  are  more  fre- 
quently ' '  luxurious  ' '  with  regard  to  their  beds 
and  bed  linen  than  is  commonly  supposed. 
They  may  eat  off  of  an  oilcloth  (which  by  some 
vague  conjecture  they  call  "  American  cloth  ") 


50       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

covered  table,  may  dip  their  fingers  deep  in  the 
polenta  and  throw  bones  on  the  tile  or  brick 
floor  to  the  dogs  and  cats  edging  about  their 
feet,  but  the  draps  of  their  beds  are  real,  rough 
old  linen,  not  the  ninety-nine-cent-store  kind 
of  the  complete  house-furnishing  establish- 
ments. 

The  tiled  floor  of  the  average  Italian  house, 
and  of  the  kitchens  and  dining  room  of  many  an 
Italian  inn,  is  the  ever  at  hand  receptacle  of 
much  refuse  food  that  elsewhere  is  relegated 
to  the  garbage  barrel.  Between  meals,  and 
bright  and  early  in  the  morning,  everything  is 
flushed  out  with  as  generous  a  supply  of  water 
as  is  used  by  the  Dutch  housvrou  in  washing 
down  the  front  steps.  Result:  the  microbes 
don't  rest  behind,  as  they  do  on  our  own  car- 
peted dining  rooms,  a  despicable  custom  which 
is  ''  growing  "  with  the  hotel  keepers  of  Eng- 
land and  America.    Another  idol  shattered ! 

What  you  don't  find  in  the  small  Italian 
hotels  are  baths,  nor  in  many  large  ones  either. 
When  you  do  find  a  haignoir  in  Europe  (except 
those  of  the  very  latest  fashion)  it  is  a  poor, 
shallow  affair  with  a  plug  that  pulls  up  to  let 
the  water  out,  but  with  no  means  of  getting  it 
in  except  to  pour  it  in  from  buckets.  This  is 
a  fault,  sure  enough,  and  it's  not  the  Ameri- 


Chianti  and  Macaroni  51 

can's  idea  of  a  bath  tub  at  all,  though  it  seems 
to  suit  well  enough  the  Englishman  en  tour. 

France  is,  undoubtedly,  the  land  of  good 
cooks  par  excellence,  but  the  Italian  of  all  ranks 
is  more  of  a  gourmet  than  he  is  usually  ac- 
counted. There  may  be  some  of  his  tribe  that 
live  on  bread  and  cheese,  but  if  he  isn't  out- 
rageously poor  he  usually  eats  well,  devotes 
much  time  to  the  preparing  and  cooking  of  his 
meals,  and  considerably  more  to  the  eating  of 
them.  The  Italian's  cooking  utensils  are  many 
and  varied  and  above  all  picturesque,  and  his 
table  ware  invariably  well  conditioned  and 
cleanly.  Let  this  opinion  (one  man's  only, 
again  let  it  be  remembered)  be  recorded  as  a 
protest  against  the  universally  condemned  dirty 
Italian,  who  supposedly  eats  cats  and  dogs,  as 
the  Chinaman  supposedly  eats  rats  and  mice. 
We  are  not  above  reproach  ourselves;  we  eat 
mushrooms,  frog  legs  and  some  other  things 
besides  which  are  certainly  not  cleanly  or 
healthful. 

More  than  one  Italian  inn  owes  its  present 
day  prosperity  to  the  travel  by  road  which  fre- 
quently stops  before  its  doors.  Twenty-five 
years  ago,  indeed  much  less,  the  vetturino  de- 
posited his  load  of  sentimental  travellers,  ac- 
companied perhaps  by  a  courier,  at  many  a 


52       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

miserable  wayside  osteria,  which  fell  far  short 
of  what  it  should  be.  To-day  this  has  all 
changed  for  the  better. 

Tourists  of  all  nationalities  and  all  ranks 
make  Italy  their  playground  to-day,  as  indeed 
they  have  for  generations.  There  is  no  diminu- 
tion in  their  numbers.  English  minor  digna- 
taries  of  the  church  jostle  Pa  and  Ma  and  the 
girls  from  the  Far  West,  and  Germans,  fiercely 
and  wondrously  clad,  peer  around  corners  and 
across  lagoons  with  field  glasses  of  a  size  and 
power  suited  to  a  Polar  Expedition.  Every- 
body is  ''  doing  "  everything,  as  though  their 
very  lives  depended  upon  their  absorbing  as 
much  as  possible  of  local  colour,  and  that  as 
speedily  as  possible.  It  will  all  be  down  in  the 
bill,  and  they  mean  to  have  what  they  are  pay- 
ing for.  This  is  one  phase  of  Italian  travel  that 
is  unlovely,  but  it  is  the  phase  that  one  sees  in 
the  great  tourist  hotels  and  in  the  chief  tourist 
cities,  not  elsewhere. 

To  best  know  Italian  fare  as  also  Italian 
manners  and  customs,  one  must  avoid  the  res- 
taurants and  trattoria  asterisked  by  Baedeker 
and  search  others  out  for  himself;  they  will 
most  likely  be  as  good,  much  cheaper,  more 
characteristic  of  the  country  and  one  will  not 
be  eternally  pestered  to  eat  beefsteak,  ham  and 


Chianti  and  Macaroni  53 

saurkraut,  or  to  drink  paleale  or  whiskey.  In- 
stead, he  will  get  macaroni  in  all  shapes  and 
sizes,  and  tomato  sauce  and  cheese  over  every- 
thing, to  say  nothing  of  rice,  artichokes  and 
onions  now  and  again,  and  oil,  of  the  olive 
brand,  in  nearly  every  plat.  If  you  don't  like 
these  things,  of  course,  there  is  no  need  going 
where  they  are.  Stick  to  the  beefsteak  and 
paleale  then!  Romantic,  sentimental  Italy  is 
disappearing,  the  Italians  are  becoming  prac- 
tical and  matter  of  fact;  it  is  only  those  with 
memories  of  Browning,  Byron,  Shelley,  Leopold 
Robert  and  Boeklin  that  would  have  Italy  sen- 
timental anyway, 

Maximilien  Mission,  a  Protestant  refugee 
from  France  in  1688,  had  something  to  say  of 
the  inns  at  Venice,  which  is  interesting  reading 
to-day.  He  says :  — ' '  There  are  some  good 
inns  at  Venice;  the  '  Louvre,'  the  '  White 
Lyon, '  the  '  Arms  of  France ;  '  the  first  enter- 
tains you  for  eight  livres  (lire)  per  day,  the 
other  two  somewhat  cheaper,  but  you  must  al- 
ways remember  to  bargain  for  everything  that 
you  have.  A  gondola  costs  something  less  than 
a  livre  (lire)  an  hour,  or  for  a  superior  looking 
craft  seven  or  eight  livres  a  day." 

This  is  about  the  price  of  the  Venetian  water 
craft  when  hired  to-day,  two  centuries  and  more 


54       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

after.  The  hotel  prices  too  are  about  what  one 
pays  to-day  in  the  smaller  inns  of  the  cities 
and  in  those  of  the  towns.  All  over  Italy,  even 
on  the  shores  of  the  Bay  of  Naples,  crowded 
as  they  are  with  tourists  of  all  nationalities 
and  all  ranks,  one  finds  isolated  little  Italian 
inns,  backed  up  against  a  hillside  or  crowning 
some  rocky  promontory,  where  one  may  live  in 
peace  and  plenitude  for  six  or  seven  francs  a 
day.  And  one  is  not  condemned  to  eating  only 
the  national  macaroni  either.  Frankly,  the 
Neapolitan  restaurateur  often  scruples  as  much 
to  put  macaroni  before  his  stranger  guests 
as  does  the  Bavarian  innkeeper  to  offer  sau- 
sage at  each  repast.  Some  of  us  regret  that 
this  is  so,  but  since  macaroni  in  some  form  or 
other  can  always  be  had  in  Italy,  and  sausages 
in  Germany,  for  the  asking,  no  great  inconve- 
nience is  caused. 

Macaroni  is  the  national  dish  of  Italy,  and 
very  good  it  is  too,  though  by  no  means  does 
one  have  to  live  off  it  as  many  suppose.  Not- 
withstanding, macaroni  goes  with  Italy,  as  do 
crackers  with  cheese.  There  are  more  shapes 
and  sizes  of  macaroni  than  there  are  beggars 
in  Naples. 

The  long,  hollow  pipe  stem,  known  as  Nea- 
politan, and  the  vermicellij  which  isn't  hollow, 


Chianti  and  Macaroni  55 

but  is  as  long  as  a  shoe  string,  are  the  leading 
varieties.  Tiny  grains,  stars,  letters  of  the  al- 
phabet and  extraordinary  animals  that  never 
came  out  of  any  ark  are  also  fashioned  out 
of  the  same  pasta,  or  again  you  get  it  in  sheets 
as  big  as  a  good  sized  handkerchief,  or  in  piping 
of  a  diameter  of  an  inch,  or  more. 

The  Romans  kneaded  their  flour  by  means  of 
a  stone  cylinder  called  a  maccaro.  The  name 
macaroni  is  supposed  to  have  been  derived 
from  this  origin. 

Naples  is  the  centre  of  the  macaroni  industry, 
but  it  is  made  all  over  the  world.  That  made 
in  Brooklyn  would  be  as  good  as  that  made  in 
Naples  if  it  was  made  of  Russian  wheat  instead 
of  that  from  Dakota.  As  it  is  now  made  it  is 
decidedly  inferior  to  the  Italian  variety.  By 
contrast,  that  made  in  Tunis  is  as  good  as  the 
Naples  variety.    Russian  wheat  again ! 

A  macaroni  factory  looks,  from  the  outside, 
like  a  place  devoted  to  making  rope.  Inside  it 
feels  like  an  inferno.  It  doesn't  pay  to  get  too 
well  acquainted  with  the  process  of  making 
macaroni. 

The  flour  paste  is  run  out  of  little  tubes,  or 
rolled  out  by  big  rollers,  or  cut  out  by  little 
dies,  thus  taking  its  desired  forms.  The  long, 
stringy  macaroni  is  taken  outside  and  hung  up 


56       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

to  dry  like  clothes  on  a  line,  except  that  it  is 
hung  on  poles.  The  workmen  are  lightly  and 
innocently  clad,  and  the  workshops  themselves 
are  kept  at  as  high  a  temperature  as  the  stoke- 
room  of  a  liner.  Whether  this  is  really  neces- 
sary or  not,  the  writer  does  not  know,  but  he 
feels  sure  that  some  genius  will,  some  day, 
evolve  a  process  which  will  do  away  with  hand 
labour  in  the  making  of  macaroni.  It  will  be 
mixed  by  machinery,  baked  by  electricity  and 
loaded  up  on  cars  and  steamships  by  the  same 
power. 

The  street  macaroni  merchants  of  Naples  sell 
the  long  ropy  kind  to  all  comers,  and  at  a  very 
small  price  one  can  get  a  * '  filling  ' '  meal.  You 
get  it  served  on  a  dish,  but  without  knives, 
forks  or  chop  sticks.  You  eat  it  with  your 
fingers  and  your  mouth. 

The  meat  is  tough  in  Italy,  often  enough. 
There  is  no  doubt  about  that.  But  it  is  usually 
a  great  deal  better  than  it  is  given  credit  for 
being.  The  day  is  past,  if  it  ever  existed,  when 
the  Anglo-Saxon  traveller  was  forced  to  quit 
Italy  "  because  he  could  not  live  without  good 
meat."  This  was  the  classic  complaint  of  the 
innocents  abroad  of  other  days,  whether  they 
hailed  from  Kensington  or  Kalamazoo.  They 
should  never  have  left  those  superlatively  ex- 


Chianti  and  Macaroni  57 

cellent  places.  The  food  and  Mazzini  were  the 
sole  topics  of  travel  talk  once,  but  to-day  it  is 
more  a  question  of  whether  one  can  get  his  rail- 
way connection  at  some  hitherto  unheard  of 
little  junction,  or  whether  the  road  via  this  river 
valley  or  that  mountain  pass  is  as  good  as  the 
main  road.  These  are  the  things  that  really 
matter  to  the  traveller,  not  whether  he  has  got 
to  sleep  in  a  four  poster  in  a  bedroom  with  a 
tile  or  marble  floor,  or  eat  macaroni  and  ravioli 
when  he  might  have  —  if  he  were  at  home  — 
his  beloved  "  ham  "  and  blood-red  beefsteaks. 

The  Italian  waiter  is  usually  a  sunny,  con- 
fiding person,  something  after  the  style  of  the 
negro,  and,  like  his  dark-skinned  brother,  often 
incompetent  beyond  a  certain  point.  You  like 
him  for  what  he  is  though,  almost  as  good  a 
thing  in  his  line  as  the  French  gargon,  in  that 
he  is  obliging  and  a  great  deal  better  than  the 
mutton-chopped,  bewhiskered  nonentity  who 
shuffles  about  behind  your  chair  in  England 
with  his  expectant  palm  forever  outstretched. 

The  Italian  cameriere,  or  waiter,  takes  a 
pride  in  his  profession  —  as  far  as  he  knows  it, 
and  quite  loses  sight  of  its  commercial  possi- 
bilities in  the  technicalities  of  his  craft,  and  his 
seeming  desire  only  to  please.  Subito  mo- 
mento  is  his  ever  ready  phrase,  though  often 


58       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

it  seems  as  though  he  might  have  replied 
never. 

Seated  in  some  roadside  or  seashore  trat- 
toria one  pounds  on  the  bare  table  for  the  came- 
riere,  orders  another  ''  Torino,"  pays  his  reck- 
oning and  is  off  again.  Nothing  extraordi- 
narily amusing  has  happened  the  while,  but  the 
mere  lolling  about  on  a  terrace  of  a  cafe  over- 
looking the  lapping  Mediterranean  waves  at 
one's  feet  is  one  of  the  things  that  one  comes 
to  Italy  for,  and  one  is  content  for  the  nonce 
never  to  recur  to  palazzos,  villas,  cathedrals,  or 
picture  galleries.  There  have  been  too  many 
travellers  in  past  times  —  and  they  exist  to-day 
—  who  do  not  seek  to  fill  the  gaps  between  a 
round  of  churches  and  art  galleries,  save  to 
rush  back  to  some  palace  hotel  and  eat  the  same 
kind  of  a  dinner  that  they  would  in  London, 
Paris  or  New  York  —  a  little  worse  cooked  and 
served  to  be  sure.  It's  the  country  and  its 
people  that  impress  one  most  in  a  land  not  his 
own.  Why  do  so  many  omit  these  "  attrac- 
tions? " 

The  huona  mano  is  everywhere  in  evidence  in 
Italy,  but  the  Italian  himself  seems  to  under- 
stand how  to  handle  the  question  better  than 
strangers.  The  Italian  guest  at  a  hotel  is  fairly 
lavish  with  the  quantity  of  his  tips,  but  each  is 


Chianti  and  Macaroni  59 

minute,  and  for  a  small  service  he  pays  a  small 
fee.  We  who  like  to  impress  the  waiter  —  for 
we  all  do,  though  we  fancy  we  don't  —  will 
often  pay  as  much  to  a  waiter  for  bringing  us 
a  drink  as  the  price  of  the  drink.  Not  so  the 
Italian;   and  that's  the  difference. 

Ten  per  cent,  on  the  bill  at  a  hotel  is  always 
a  lavish  fee,  and  five  would  be  ample,  though 
now  and  again  the  head  waiter  may  look 
askance  at  his  share.  Follow  the  Italian's  own 
system  then,  give  everybody  who  serves  you 
something,  however  little,  and  give  to  those 
only,  and  then  their  little  jealousies  between 
each  other  will  take  the  odium  off  you  —  if  you 
really  care  what  a  waiter  thinks  about  you  any- 
way, which  of  course  you  shouldn't. 

These  little  disbursements  are  everywhere 
present  in  Italy.  One  pays  a  franc  to  enter  a 
museum,  a  picture  gallery  or  a  great  library, 
and  one  tips  his  cabman  as  he  does  elsewhere, 
and  a  dozen  francs  spent  in  riding  about  on 
Venetian  gondolas  for  a  day  incurs  the  implied 
liability  for  another  two  francs  as  well. 


CHAPTER   IV 

ITALIAN    KOADS    AND   ROUTES 

The  cordiality  of  the  Italian  for  the  stranger 
within  his  gates  is  undeniable,  but  the  auto- 
mobilist  would  appreciate  this  more  if  the  Latin 
would  keep  his  great  highways  (a  tradition  left 
by  the  Romans  of  old,  the  finest  road-builders 
the  world  has  ever  known)  in  better  condi- 
tion. 

Italy,  next  to  France,  is  an  ideal  touring 
ground  for  the  automobilist.  The  Italian  pop- 
ulation everywhere  seems  to  understand  the 
tourist  and  his  general  wants  and,  above  all, 
his  motive  for  coming  thither,  and  whether  one 
journeys  by  the  railway,  by  automobile  or  by 
the  more  humble  bicycle,  he  finds  a  genial  re- 
ception everywhere,  though  coupled  with  it  is 
always  an  abounding  curiosity  which  is  at  times 
annoying.  The  native  is  lenient  with  you  and 
painstaking  to  the  extreme  if  you  do  not  speak 
his  language,  and  will  struggle  with  lean  scraps 

60 


Italian  Roads  and  Routes  61 

of  English,  French  and  German  in  his  effort 
to  understand  your  wants. 

Admirably  surveyed  and  usually  very  well 
graded,  some  of  the  most  important  of  the  north 
and  south  thoroughfares  in  Italy  have  been 
lately  so  sadly  neglected  that  the  briefest  spell 
of  bad  weather  makes  them  all  but  impassable. 

There  is  one  stretch  between  Bologna  and 
Imola  of  thirty-two  kilometres,  straightaway 
and  perfectly  flat.  It  is  a  good  road  or  a  bad 
road,  according  as  one  sees  it  after  six  weeks 
of  good  weather  or  after  a  ten  days'  rainy 
spell.  It  is  at  once  the  best  and  worst  of  its 
kind,  but  it  is  badly  kept  up  and  for  that  reason 
may  be  taken  as  a  representative  Italian  road. 
The  mountain  roads  up  back  of  the  lake  region 
and  over  the  Alpine  passes,  in  time  of  snow  and 
ice  and  rain  —  if  they  are  not  actually  buried 
under  —  are  thoroughly  good  roads.  They  are 
built  on  different  lines.  Road-building  is  a  na- 
tional affair  in  Italy  as  it  is  in  France,  but  the 
central  power  does  not  ramify  its  forces  in  all 
directions  as  it  does  across  the  border.  There 
is  only  one  kind  of  road-building  worth  taking 
into  consideration,  and  that  is  national  road- 
building.  It  is  not  enough  that  Massachusetts 
should  build  good  roads  and  have  them  degen- 
erate into  mere  wagon  tracks  when  they  get  to 


62      Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

the  State  border,  or  that  the  good  roads  of  Mid- 
dlesex should  become  mere  sloughs  as  soon  as 
they  come  within  the  domain  of  the  London 
County  Council.  Italy  is  slack  and  incompetent 
with  regard  to  her  road-building,  but  England 
and  America  are  considerably  worse  at  the 
present  writing. 

Entering  Italy  by  the  Eiviera  gateway  one 
leaves  the  good  roads  of  France  behind  him  at 
Menton  and,  between  Grimaldi,  where  he  passes 
the  Italian  dogana  and  its  formalities,  and  Ven- 
timiglia,  or  at  least  San  Remo,  twenty-five  kilo- 
metres away,  punctures  his  tires  one,  three  or 
five  times  over  a  kilometre  stretch  of  unrolled 
stone  bristling  with  flints,  whereas  in  France 
a  side  path  would  have  been  left  on  which  the 
automobilist  might  pass  comfortably. 

It  isn't  the  Italian's  inability  to  handle  the 
good  roads  question  as  successfully  as  the 
French;  it  is  his  woefully  incompetent,  care- 
less, unthinking  way  of  doing  things.  This  is 
not  saying  that  good  roads  do  not  exist  in  Italy. 
Far  from  it.  But  the  good  road  in  Italy  sud- 
denly descends  into  a  bad  road  for  a  dozen 
kilometres  and  as  abruptly  becomes  a  good  road 
again,  and  this  without  apparent  reason.  Lack 
of  unity  of  purpose  on  the  part  of  individual 
road-building  bodies  is  what  does  it. 


Italian  Roads  and  Eoutes  63 

Eoad-buildiug  tlirougliout  Italy  never  rose  to 
the  height  that  it  did  in  France.  The  Romans 
were  great  exploiters  beyond  the  frontiers  and 
often  left  things  at  home  to  shuffle  along  as 
best  they  might  whilst  their  greatest  energies 
were  spent  abroad. 

One  well  defined  Roman  road  of .  antiquity 
(aside  from  the  tracings  of  the  great  trunk  lines 
like  the  Appian  or  ^milian  Ways)  is  well 
known  to  all  automobilists  entering  Naples  via 
Posilippo.  It  runs  through  a  tunnel,  alongside 
a  hooting,  puffing  tram  and  loose-wheeled  iron- 
tired  carts  all  in  a  deafening  uproar. 

This  marvellous  tunnelled  road  by  the  sea, 
with  glimpses  of  daylight  now  and  then,  but 
mostly  as  dark  as  the  cavern  through  which 
flowed  the  Styx,  is  the  legitimate  successor  of 
an  engineering  work  of  the  time  of  Augustus. 
In  Nero 's  reign,  Seneca,  the  historian,  wrote  of 
it  as  a  narrow,  gloomy  pass,  and  mediaeval  su- 
perstition claimed  it  as  the  work  of  necro- 
mancy, since  the  hand  of  man  never  could  have 
achieved  it.  The  foundation  of  the  roadway  is 
well  authenticated  by  history  however.  In  1442 
Alphonso  I,  the  Spaniard,  widened  and  height- 
ened the  gallery,  and  Don  Pedro  of  Toledo  a 
century  later  paved  it  with  good  solid  blocks  of 
granite  which  were  renewed  again  by  Charles 


64       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

III  in  1754.  Here  is  a  good  road  that  has  en- 
dured for  centuries.  We  should  do  as  well 
to-day. 

There  are,  of  course,  countless  other  short 
lengths  of  highway,  coming  down  from  historic 
times,  left  in  Italy,  but  the  Roman  viae  with 
which  we  have  become  familiar  in  the  classical 
geographies  and  histories  of  our  schooldays  are 
now  replaced  by  modern  thoroughfares  which, 
however,  in  many  cases,  follow,  or  frequently 
cut  in  on,  the  old  itineraries.  Of  these  old  Ro- 
man Ways  that  most  readily  traced,  and  of  the 
greatest  possible  interest  to  the  automobilist 
who  would  do  something  a  little  different  from 
what  his  fellows  have  done,  is  the  Via  Emilia. 

With  Bologna  as  its  central  station,  the  an- 
cient Via  Emilia,  begun  by  the  Consul  Marcus 
j^milius  Lepidus,  continues  towards  Cisalpine 
Gaul  the  Via  Flamina  leading  out  from  Rome. 
It  is  a  delightfully  varied  itinerary  that  one 
covers  in  following  up  this  old  Roman  road 
from  Placentia  (Piacenza)  to  Ariminum  (Ri- 
mini), and  should  indeed  be  followed  leisurely 
from  end  to  end  if  one  would  experience  some- 
thing of  the  spirit  of  olden  times,  which  one  can 
hardly  do  if  travelling  by  schedule  and  stop- 
ping only  at  the  places  lettered  large  on  the 
maps. 


Italian  Roads  and  Routes  65 

The  following  are  the  ancient  and  modern 
place-names  on  this  itinerary : 

Placentia  (Piacenza) 

Florentia  (Firenzuola) 

Fidentia  (Borgo  S.  Donnino) 

Parma  (Parma) 

Tannetum  (Taneto) 

Regium  Lepidi  (Reggio) 

Mutina  (Modena) 

Forum  Gallorum  (near  Castel  Franco) 

Bononia  (Bologna) 

Claterna  (Quaderna) 

Forum  Cornelii  (Imola) 

Faventia  (Faenza) 

Forum  Livii  (Forli) 

Forum  Populii  (Forlimpopoli) 

Caesena  (Cesena) 

Ad  Confluentes  (near  Savignamo) 

Ariminum  (Rimini) 

Connecting  with  the  Via  Emilia  another 
important  Roman  road  ran  from  the  valley  of 
the  Casentino  across  the  Apennines  to  Piacenza. 
It  was  the  route  traced  by  a  part  of  the  itin- 
erary of  Dante  in  the  "  Divina  Commedia," 
and  as  such  it  is  a  historic  highway  with  which 
the  least  sentimentally  inclined  might  be  glad 
to  make  acquaintance. 

Another  itinerary,  perhaps  better  known  to 
the  automobilist,  is  that  which  follows  the  Li- 
gurian  coast  from  Nice  to  Spezia,  continuing 
thence  to  Rome  by  the  Via  Aurelia.    This  coast 


66       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

road  of  Liguria  passed  through  Nice  to  Luna 
on  the  Gulf  of  Spezia,  the  towns  en  route  being 
as  follows :  — 


Varium  fl. 

Nicae 

Cemenelium 

Portus  Herculis  Monoeci 

Albium  Intermelium 

Albium  Ingaunum 

Vada  Sabbata 

Genua 

Portus  Delphini 

TiguUia 

Segesta 

Portus  Veneris 

Portus  Erici 


The  Var  (river) 

Nice 

Cimiez,  back  of  Nice 

Monaco 

Ventimiglia 

Albenga 

Vado,  near  Savona 

Genoa 

Portofino 

Tregesco,  near  Sestri 

Sestri 

Porto  Venere 

Lerici 


The  chief  of  these  great  Roman  roadways  of 
old  whose  itineraries  can  be  traced  to-day  are : 


Via  iEmilia 
Via  iEmelia-Scauri 
Via  Ameria 
Via  Appia 

Via  Aquilla 
Via  Ardentina 
Via  Aurelia 
Via  Cassia 
Via  Flaminia 
Via  Latina 

Via  Laurentia 
Via  Ostiensis 


The  most  celebrated  of  N.  Italy- 
Built  long  after  the  original  Via  Amelia 
From  Rome  to  Amelia 
Of  which  the  main  trunk  line  ran  from 
Rome  to  Capua 


From  Rome  to  Pisa 

The  Great  North  Road  of  the  Romans 
One  of  the  most  ancient  of  Roman 
roads 

From  Rome  to  Ostia 


Italian  Roads  and  Routes  67 

Via  Salaria  Leading  from  Rome  through  the  valley 

of  the  Tiber 
Via  Valeria  From   the   Tiber   to   the   Adriatic   at 

Ancona 

These  ancient  Roman  roads  were  at  their  best 
in  Campania  and  Etruria.  Campania  was  trav- 
ersed by  the  Appian  Way,  the  greatest  highway 
of  the  Romans,  though  indeed  its  original  con- 
struction by  Appius  Claudius  only  extended  to 
Capua.  The  great  highroads  proceeding  from 
Rome  crossed  Etruria  almost  to  the  full  ex- 
tent ;  the  Via  Aurelia,  from  Rome  to  Pisa  and 
Luna ;  the  Via  Cassia  and  the  Via  Clodia. 

The  great  Roman  roads  were  marked  with 
division  stones  or  bornes  every  thousand  paces, 
practically  a  kilometre  and  a  half,  a  little  more 
than  our  own  mile.  These  mile-stones  of  Ro- 
man times,  many  of  which  are  still  above 
ground  {milliarii  lapides),  were  sometimes 
round  and  sometimes  square,  and  were  entirely 
bare  of  capitals,  being  mere  stone  posts  usually 
standing  on  a  squared  base  of  a  somewhat 
larger  area. 

A  graven  inscription  bore  in  Latin  the  name 
of  the  Consul  or  Emperor  under  whom  each 
stone  was  set  up  and  a  numerical  indication  as 
well. 

Caius  Gracchus,  away  back  in  the  second  cen- 


68       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

tury  before  Christ,  was  the  inventor  of  these 
aids  to  travel.  The  automobilist  appreciates 
the  development  of  this  accessory  next  to  good 
roads  themselves,  and  if  he  stops  to  think  a 
minute  he  will  see  that  the  old  Romans  were  the 
inventors  of  many  things  which  he  fondly  thinks 
are  modern. 

The  automobilist  in  Italy  has,  it  will  be  in- 
ferred, cause  to  regret  the  absence  of  the  fine 
roads  of  France  once  and  again,  and  he  will 
regret  it  whenever  he  wallows  into  a  six  inch 
deep  rut  and  finds  himself  not  able  to  pull  up 
or  out,  whilst  the  drivers  of  ten  yoke  ox-teams, 
drawing  a  block  of  Carrara  marble  as  big  as  a 
house,  call  down  the  imprecations  of  all  the 
saints  in  the  calendar  on  his  head.  It's  not  the 
automobilist 's  fault,  such  an  occurrence,  nor  the 
ox-driver's  either;  but  for  fifty  kilometres  after 
leaving  Spezia,  and  until  Lucca  and  Livorno  are 
reached,  this  is  what  may  happen  every  half 
hour,  and  you  have  no  recourse  except  to  ac- 
cept the  situation  with  fortitude  and  revile  the 
administration  for  allowing  a  roadway  to  wear 
down  to  such  a  state,  or  for  not  providing  a 
parallel  thoroughfare  so  as  to  divide  the  dif- 
ferent classes  of  traffic.  There  is  no  such  dis- 
gracefully used  and  kept  highway  in  Europe  as 
this  stretch  between  Spezia  and  Lucca,  and  one 


Italian  Roads  and  Routes  69 

must  of  necessity  pass  over  it  going  from  Genoa 
to  Pisa  unless  he  strikes  inland  through  the 
mountainous  country  just  beyond  Spezia,  by  the 
Strada  di  Reggio  for  a  detour  of  a  hundred 
kilometres  or  more,  coming  back  to  the  sea  level 
road  at  Lucca. 

Throughout  the  peninsula  the  inland  roads 
are  better  as  to  surface  than  those  by  the  coast, 
though  by  no  means  are  they  more  attractive  to 
the  tourist  by  road.  This  is  best  exemplified 
by  a  comparison  of  the  inland  and  shore  roads, 
each  of  them  more  or  less  direct,  between  Flor- 
ence and  Rome. 

The  great  Strada  di  grande  Communicazione 
from  Florence  to  Rome  (something  less  than 
three  hundred  kilometres  all  told,  a  mere  mouth- 
ful for  a  modern  automobile)  runs  straight 
through  the  heart  of  old  Siena,  entering  the 
city  by  the  Porta  Camollia  and  leaving  by  the 
Porta  Romana,  two  kilometres  of  treacherous, 
narrow  thoroughfare,  though  readily  enough 
traced  because  it  is  in  a  bee-line.  The  details 
are  here  given  as  being  typical  of  what  the 
automobilist  may  expect  to  find  in  the  smaller 
Italian  cities.  There  are,  in  Italy,  none  of  those 
unexpected  right-angle  turns  that  one  comes 
upon  so  often  in  French  towns,  at  least  not  so 
many  of  them,  and  there   are  no  cork-screw 


70       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

thoroughfares  though  many  have  the  "  rain- 
bow curve,"  to  borrow  Mark  Twain's  expres- 
sion. 

On  through  Chiusi,  Orvieto  and  Viterbo  runs 
the  highroad  direct  to  the  gates  of  Rome,  for 
the  most  part  a  fair  road,  but  rising  and  falling 
from  one  level  to  another  in  trying  fashion  to 
one  who  would  set  a  steady  pace. 

It  is  with  respect  to  the  grades  on  Italian 
roads,  too,  that  one  remarks  a  falling  off  from 
French  standards.  North  of  Florence,  in  the 
valley  of  the  Mugello,  we,  having  left  the  well- 
worn  roads  in  search  of  something  out  of  the 
common,  found  a  bit  of  seventeen  per  cent, 
grade.  This  was  negotiated  readily  enough, 
since  it  was  of  brief  extent,  but  another  rise  of 
twenty-five  per  cent,  (it  looked  forty-five  from 
the  cushions  of  a  low-hung  car)  followed  and 
on  this  we  could  do  nothing.  Fortunately  there 
was  a  way  around,  as  there  usually  is  in  Eu- 
rope, so  nothing  was  lost  but  time,  and  we  bene- 
fited by  the  acquisition  of  some  knowledge  con- 
cerning various  things  which  we  did  not  before 
possess.  And  we  were  content,  for  that  was 
what  we  came  for  anyway. 

From  Florence  south,  by  the  less  direct  road 
via  Arezzo,  Perugia  and  Terni,  there  is  another 
surprisingly  sudden  rise  but  likewise  brief.    It 


Italian  Roads  and  Routes  71 

is  on  this  same  road  that  one  remarks  from  a 
great  distance  the  towers  of  Spoleto  piercing 
the  sky  at  a  seemingly  enormous  height,  while 
the  background  mountain  road  over  the  Passo 
della  Somma  rises  six  hundred  and  thirty  me- 
tres and  tries  the  courage  of  every  automobilist 
passing  this  way. 

To  achieve  many  of  these  Italian  hill-towns 
one  does  not  often  rise  abruptly  but  rather  al- 
most imperceptibly,  but  here,  in  ten  kilometres, 
say  half  a  dozen  miles,  the  Strada  di  grande 
Communicazione  rises  a  thousand  feet,  and  that 
is  considerable  for  a  road  supposedly  laid  out 
by  military  strategists. 

As  a  contrast  to  these  hilly,  switch-back  roads 
running  inland  from  the  north  to  the  south  may 
be  compared  that  running  from  Rome  to  Na- 
ples, not  the  route  usually  followed  via  Val- 
lombrosa  and  Frosinone,  but  that  via  Velletri, 
Terracina  and  Gaeta.  Here  the  highroad  is 
nearly  flat,  though  truth  to  tell  of  none  too  good 
surface,  all  the  way  to  Naples.  Practically  it 
is  as  good  a  road  as  that  which  runs  inland  and 
offers  to  any  who  choose  to  pass  that  way  cer- 
tain delights  that  most  other  travellers  in  Italy 
know  not  of. 

At  Cisterna  di  Roma,  forty-eight  kilometres 
from  Rome,  one  is  in  the  midst  of  the  Pontine 


72       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

Marshes  it  is  true,  and  it  is  also  more  or  less 
of  a  marvel  that  a  decent  road  could  have  been 
built  here  at  all.  From  this  point  of  view  it 
is  interesting  to  the  automobilist  who  has  a 
hobby  of  studying  the  road-building  systems  of 
the  countries  through  which  he  travels.  Of  the 
Pontine  Marshes  themselves  it  is  certain  that 
they  are  not  salubrious,  and  malaria  is  most 
prevalent  near  them.  Appius  Claudius,  in  312 
B.  c,  tried  to  drain  the  marsh  and  so  did  Caesar, 
Augustus  and  Theodoric  after  him,  and  the 
Popes  Boniface  VIII,  Martinus  V  and  Sixtus  V, 
but  the  morass  is  still  there  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  a  company  calling  itself  Ufficio  della  Bonifi- 
cazione  delle  Paludi  Pontine  is  to-day  working 
continuously  at  the  same  problem. 

Putting  these  various  classes  of  Italian  roads 
aside  for  the  moment  there  remains  but  one 
other  variety  to  consider,  that  of  the  mountain 
roads  of  the  high  Alpine  valleys  and  those 
crossing  the  Oberland  and,  further  east,  those 
in  communication  with  the  Austrian  Tyrol.  On 
the  west  these  converge  on  Milan  and  Turin 
via  the  region  of  the  lakes  and  the  valleys  of 
Aosta  and  Susa,  and  in  the  centre  and  east  give 
communication  from  Brescia,  Verona  and  Ven- 
ice with  West  Germany  and  Austria. 

These  are  the  best  planned  and  best  kept 


PORTOCSUiRO 


lA 


,  mm        «»"' 


•tS^siii 


Italian  Roads  and  Routes  73 

roads  in  Italy,  take  them  by  and  large.  The 
most  celebrated  are  those  leading  from  Turin 
into  France;  via  Susa  and  the  Col  du  Mont 
Genevre  to  Briangon,  and  via  Mont  Cenis  to 
Modane  and  Grenoble;  via  the  Val  d'Aosta  and 
the  Petit  Saint  Bernard  to  Albertville  in 
France,  or  via  the  Grand  Saint  Bernard  to 
Switzerland. 

Just  north  of  the  Lago  di  Maggiore,  accessi- 
ble either  from  Como  or  from  Milan  direct  via 
Arena,  is  the  famous  road  over  the  Simplon 
Pass,  at  an  elevation  of  2,008  metres  above  the 
sea.  By  this  road,  the  best  road  in  all  Italy, 
without  question,  one  enters  or  leaves  the  king- 
dom by  the  gateway  of  Domodossola. 

On  entering  Italy  by  this  route  one  passes 
the  last  rock-cut  gallery  near  Crevola  and,  by 
a  high-built  viaduct,  thirty  metres  or  more 
above  the  bed  of  the  river,  it  crosses  the  Di- 
veria.  Soon  the  vineyards  and  all  the  signs  of 
the  insect  life  of  the  southland  meet  the  eye, 
Italy  has  at  last  been  reached,  no  more  eternal 
snow  and  ice,  no  more  peaked  rooftops,  the 
whole  region  now  flattens  out  into  the  Lombard 
plain.  Domodossola  has  all  the  ear-marks  of 
the  Italian's  manner  of  life  and  building  of 
houses,  albeit  that  the  town  itself  has  no  splen- 
did monuments. 


74       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

Another  entrance  to  the  Italian  lake  region 
through  the  mountain  barrier  beyond  is  by  the 
road  over  the  San  Bernardino  Pass  and  Bellin- 
zona.  The  San  Bernardino  Pass  is  not  to  be 
confounded  with  tliose  of  the  Grand  and  Petit 
Saint  Bernard.  The  present  roadway  dates 
from  1822,  when  it  was  built  by  the  engineer 
Pocobelle,  at  the  joint  expense  of  the  Sardinian 
and  Grisons  governments.  Its  chief  object  was 
to  connect  Genoa  and  Turin  directly  with  Switz- 
erland and  west  Germany.  The  pass  crosses 
the  Rheinwald  at  a  height  of  2,063  metres. 

This  passage  across  the  Alps  was  known  to 
the  ancient  Romans,  and  down  to  the  fifteenth 
century  it  was  known  as  the  Vogelberg.  A  mis- 
sion brother,  Bernardino  of  Siena,  preaching 
the  gospel  in  the  high  valleys,  erected  a  chapel 
here  which  gave  the  pass  the  name  which  it 
bears  to-day. 

In  part  the  road  tunnels  through  the  hillsides, 
in  part  runs  along  a  shelf  beside  the  precipice, 
and  here  and  there  crosses  a  mountain  torrent 
by  some  massive  bridge  of  masonry. 

Like  most  of  the  mountain  roads  leading  into 
Italy  from  Switzerland  and  Germany  the  south- 
em  slope  descends  more  abruptly  than  that  ou 
the  north.  The  coach  driver  may  trot  his  horses 
down  hill,  though,  so  well  has  the  descent  been 


Italian  Roads  and  Routes  75 

engineered,  and  the  automobilist  may  rush 
things  with  considerably  more  safety  here  than 
on  the  better  known  routes. 

Another  celebrated  gateway  into  Italy  is  that 
over  the  Splugen  Pass  from  Coire  (in  Italian 
nomenclature:  Colmo  dell'  Or  so).  It  was  com- 
pleted by  the  Austrian  government  in  1823  to 
compete  with  the  new-made  road  a  few  kilome- 
tres to  the  west  over  the  Bernardino  which  fa- 
voured Switzerland  and  Germany  and  took  no 
consideration  whatever  of  the  interests  of  Aus- 
tria. The  summit  of  the  Splugen  Pass  is  2,117 
metres  above  sea-level  and  on  a  narrow  ridge 
near  by  runs  for  six  kilometres  the  boundary 
between  Switzerland  and  Italy. 

Entering  Italy  by  the  Splugen  Pass  one  finds 
the  dog  ana  a  dull,  ugly  group  of  buildings  just 
below  the  first  series  of  facets  which  drop  down 
from  the  crest.  It  is  as  lonesome  and  gloomy 
a  place  of  residence  as  one  can  possibly  con- 
ceive as  existing  on  the  earth's  surface.  One 
forgets  entirely  that  it  is  very  nearly  the  heart 
of  civilized  Europe;  there  is  nothing  within 
view  to  suggest  it  in  the  least,  not  a  scrap  of 
vegetation,  not  a  silvery  streak  of  water,  not  a 
habitation  even  that  might  not  be  as  appropri- 
ately set  upon  a  shelf  of  rock  by  the  side  of 
Hecla. 


76      Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

The  French  army  under  Marechal  Macdonald 
crossed  the  pass  in  1800  when  but  a  mere  trail 
existed,  but  with  a  loss  of  a  hundred  men  and 
as  many  horses. 

Of  late  years  the  passage  of  the  Col  has  been 
rendered  the  easier  by  the  cutting  of  two  long 
galleries.  Another  engineering  work  of  note  is 
met  a  little  farther  on  in  the  Gorge  of  San 
Giacomo,  a  work  completed  by  Carlo  Donegani 
in  the  reign  of  the  Emperor  Francis  II,  and, 
just  beyond,  the  boiling  torrent  of  the  Liro  is 
spanned  by  a  daring  bridge  of  masonry. 

Road  signs  in  Italy  are  not  as  good  or  as  fre- 
quent as  one  finds  in  France,  but  where  they 
exist  they  are  at  least  serviceable.  The  Roman 
milestone  of  old  has  ceased  to  serve  its  pur- 
pose, though  solitary  examples  still  exist,  and 
their  place  is  taken  by  the  governmental 
''  bornes  "  and  the  placards  posted  at  the  in- 
itiation of  the  Touring  Club  and  various  auto- 
mobile organizations  in  certain  parts,  particu- 
larly in  the  north. 

The  signboards  of  the  Touring  Club  Italiano 
are  distinctly  good  as  far  as  they  go,  but  they 
are  infrequent. 

All  hotels  and  garages  affiliated  with  the  club 
hang  out  a  characteristic  and  ever  welcome 
sign,  and  there  one  is  sure  of  finding  the  best 


Italian  Roads  and  Routes 


77 


welcome  and  the  best  accommodations  for  man 
and  his  modern  beast  of  burden,  the  mechanical 
horses  of  iron  and  bronze  harnessed  to  his  luxu- 
rious tonneau  or  limousine. 

With  regard  to  road  maps  for  Italy  there 
exist  certain  governmental  maps  like  those  of 
the  Ordnance  Survey  in  England  or  of  the  Etat 
Major  in  France,  but  they  are  practically  use- 


less for  the  automobilist,  and  are  only  interest- 
ing from  a  topographic  sense. 

Taride,  the  French  map  publisher,  issues  a 
cheap  series  of  Italian  road  maps,  covering  the 
entire  peninsula  in  three  sheets  printed  in  three 
colours,  with  main  roads  marked  plainly  in  red. 
They  are  easily  read  and  clear  and  have  the 
advantage  of  being  cheap,  the  three  sheets  cost- 
ing but  a  franc  each,  but  one  suspects  that  they 
were  not  composed  entirely  from  first  hand, 
well-authenticated,  recent  sources  of  informa- 


78       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

tion.  Little  discrepancies  such  as  just  where  a 
railway  crosses  a  road,  etc.,  etc.,  are  frequently 
to  be  noted.  This  is  perhaps  a  small  matter, 
but  the  genuine  vagabond  tourist,  whether  he 
is  plodding  along  on  foot  or  rolling  smoothly 
on  his  five  inch  pneumatics,  likes  to  know  his 
exact  whereabouts  at  every  step  of  the  way. 
On  the  whole  the  Italian  "  Taride  "  maps  are 
fairly  satisfactory,  and  they  are  much  more 
easily  read  than  the  more  elaborate  series  in 
fifty-six  sheets  on  a  scale  of  1-1,250,000  issued 
by  the  Touring  Club  Italiano,  or  the  thirty-five 
sheets  of  the  Carta  Stradale  d 'Italia  Sistema 
Becherel-Marieni,  which  by  reason  of  the  num- 
ber of  sheets  alone  are  in  no  way  as  convenient 
as  the  three  sheet  map. 

The  Becherel-Marieni  maps  are,  however, 
beautifully  printed  and  have  a  system  of  mark- 
ing localities  where  one  finds  supplies  of  gaso- 
line, a  mechanician  or  a  garage  which  is  very 
useful  to  the  automobilist,  besides  giving  warn- 
ing of  all  hills  and,  with  some  attempt  at  pre- 
cision, also  marking  the  good,  mediocre  and  bad 
roads.  This  is  important  but,  as  the  writer  has 
so  often  found  that  a  good  road  of  yesterday 
has  become  a  bad  road  of  to-day,  and  will  be 
perhaps  a  worse  one  to-morrow,  he  realizes  that 
the  fluctuating  quality  of  Italian  roads  prevents 


Italian  Roads  and  Routes 


79 


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PROFILE  ROSJD  3W^P 
BOLOGNA-  FLORENCE 


Px.t01_l« 


80       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

any  genius  of  a  map-maker  from  doing  his  best. 
These  maps  in  seven  colours  are  perhaps  the 
best  works  of  their  kind  in  Italy,  at  least  rank- 
ing with  the  Touring  Club  maps,  and  completely 
cover  the  country,  whereas  the  other  series  is 
not  as  yet  wholly  complete. 

Membership  in  the  great  Touring  Club  Itali- 
ano  is  almost  a  necessity  for  one  who  would 
enjoy  his  Italian  tour  to  the  full.  The  "  An- 
nuario,"  giving  information  as  to  hotels  and 
garages  and  miniature  plans  of  all  the  cities  and 
principal  towns  —  presented  gratis  to  members 
—  is  all  but  indispensable,  while  the  three 
pocket  volumes  entitled  Strade  di  Grande  Com- 
municazione,  with  the  kilometric  distances  be- 
tween all  Italian  places  except  the  merest  ham- 
lets and  the  profile  elevations  (miniature  maps, 
hundreds  of  them)  of  the  great  highways  are 
a  boon  and  a  blessing  to  one  who  would  know 
the  easiest  and  least  hilly  road  between  two 
points.  The  accompanying  diagram  explains 
this  better  than  words. 


CHAPTER   V 


IN    LIGUKIA 


The  most  ravishingly  beautiful  entrance  into 
Italy  is  by  the  road  along  the  Mediterranean 
shore.  The  French  Riviera  and  its  gilded 
pleasures,  its  great  hotels,  its  chic  resorts  and 
its  entrancing  combination  of  seascape  and 
landscape  are  known  to  all  classes  of  travellers, 
but  at  Menton,  almost  on  the  frontier,  one  is 
within  arm's  reach  of  things  Italian,  where  life 
is  less  feverish,  in  strong  contrast  to  the  French 
atmosphere  which  envelops  everything  to  the 
west  of  the  great  white  triangle  painted  on  the 
cliff  above  the  Pont  Saint  Louis  and  marking 
the  boundary  between  the  two  great  Latin  coun- 
tries. 

The  ''  Route  Internationale,"  leading  from 
France  to  Italy,  crosses  a  deep  ravine  by  the 
Pont  Saint  Louis  with  the  railway  running  close 
beside. 

Not  so  very  long  ago  there  was  a  unity  of 
speech  and  manners  among  the  inhabitants  of 

81 


82       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

Menton  and  the  neighbouring  Italian  towns  of 
Grimaldi,  Mortola  and  Ventimiglia,  but  little  by- 
little  the  Ravine  of  Saint  Louis  has  become  a 
hostile  frontier,  where  the  custom  house  officials 
of  France  and  Italy  regard  each  other,  if  not 
as  enemies,  at  least  as  aliens.  The  two  peoples 
are,  however,  of  the  same  race  and  have  the 
same  historic  traditions. 

It  was  just  here,  on  passing  the  frontier,  that 
we  asked  a  deep-eyed,  sun-burnt  young  girl  of 
eighteen  or  twenty  if  she  was  an  Italian,  think- 
ing perhaps  she  might  be  a  Nigoise,  who,  among 
the  world's  beautiful  women,  occupy  a  very 
high  place.  She  replied  in  French-Italian: 
''  Oui,  aussi  bien  Venitienne!  "  This  was 
strange,  for  most  Venetians,  since  Titian  set 
the  style  for  them,  have  been  blondes. 

A  chateau  of  the  Grimaldi  family  crowns  the 
porphyry  height  just  to  the  eastward  of  the 
Italian  frontier,  and  below  is  the  Italian  Do- 
gana,  where  the  automobilist  and  other  travel- 
lers by  road  go  through  the  formalities  made 
necessary  by  governmental  red  tape.  Red  tape 
is  all  right  in  the  right  place,  but  it  should  be 
cut  off  in  proper  lengths,  so  that  officials  need 
not  be  obliged  to  quibble  over  a  few  soldi  while 
individuals  lose  a  dozen  francs  or  more  in  val- 
uable time. 


In  Liguria  83 

This  matter  of  customs  formalities  at  Gri- 
maldi  is  only  an  incident.  The  automobilist's 
troubles  really  commence  at  a  little  shack  in 
Menton,  on  French  soil,  just  before  the  Pont 
Saint  Louis  is  crossed.  Here  he  has  his  "  pas- 
savant  "  made  out,  an  official  taking  a  lot  of 
valuable  time  to  decide  whether  the  cushions  of 
your  automobile  are  red,  orange  or  brown.  You 
stick  out  for  orange  because  they  were  that 
colour  when  you  bought  the  outfit,  but  the  rep- 
resentative of  the  law  sticks  out  too  —  he  for 
red.  The  result  is,  you  compromise  on  brown, 
and  hope  that  the  other  customs  guardian  on 
duty  at  the  frontier  post  by  which  you  will  enter 
France  again  will  be  blessed  with  the  same 
sense  of  colour-blindness  as  was  his  fellow  of 
Menton.  Once  this  formality  gone  through  — 
and  you  pay  only  two  sous  for  the  documents 
—  you  have  no  trouble  getting  back  into  France 
again  by  whichever  frontier  town  you  pass. 
There  are  no  duties  to  pay  and  no  disputes,  so 
really  one  cannot  complain.  It  is  for  his  bene- 
fit anyway  that  the  ^'  passavant  "  describing 
the  peculiarities  of  automobile  is  issued. 

At  the  Grimaldi  Dogana  on  entering  Italy 
you  are  made  to  pay  duty  on  what  little  gasoline 
you  may  have  in  your  tanks,  even  for  as  little 
as  a  litre.    Presumably  you  pass  your  machine 


84       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

through  the  Italian  customs  with  one  of  the 
"  triptyches  "  issued  by  any  of  the  great  auto- 
mobile clubs  or  touring  associations,  as  other- 
wise you  have  to  put  down  gold,  and  a  thousand 
or  fifteen  hundred  francs  in  gold  one  does  not 
usually  carry  around  loose  in  his  pocket.  We 
passed  through  readily  enough,  but  a  poor  non- 
French,  non-Italian  speaking  American  who 
followed  in  our  wheel-tracks  had  not  made  his 
preparations  beforehand,  and  French  bank- 
notes didn't  look  good  enough  to  the  Italian 
customs  official,  and  a  day  was  lost  accordingly 
while  the  poor  unfortunate  rolled  back  down 
hill  to  Menton  and  sought  to  turn  the  notes  into 
gold.  The  banks  having  just  closed  he  was  not 
able  to  do  this  as  readily  as  he  thought  he 
might,  and  it  was  well  on  after  sunrise  that  he 
followed  our  trail  —  and  never  caught  up  with 
us  all  the  way  to  Grosetto. 

Mortola  is  the  first  town  of  note  that  one 
passes  on  entering  Italian  soil,  but  beyond  its 
aspect,  so  alien  to  that  of  the  small  town  in 
France,  it  is  not  worthy  of  remark. 

Ventimiglia  comes  next,  where  the  traveller 
by  rail  goes  through  equally  annoying  customs 
formalities  to  those  experienced  by  the  travel- 
ler by  road  at  Grimaldi.  These  are  not  apt  to 
be  so  costly,  as  the  customs  officials  take  him 


In  Liguria  85 

at  his  word,  graciously  chalk  his  luggage  and 
pass  him  on.  The  Guardie-Finanze,  or  customs 
officer,  of  Italy  is  a  genteel  looking  young  per- 
son with  a  bowler  hat,  topped  with  a  feather 
cockade.  He  is  even  as  gay  and  picturesque 
as  the  '^  carabinieri  reales,"  though  he  is  a 
mere  plebeian  among  the  noblesse  of  soldier- 
dom. 

The  Vintimille  of  the  French,  or  the  Venti- 
miglia  of  the  Italians,  was  the  ancient  Intemil- 
ium  of  the  Romans.  To-day,  on  the  left  bank 
of  the  Roja,  is  a  new  city  made  up  of  the  attri- 
butes of  a  great  railway  and  frontier  station 
and  a  numerous  assemblage  of  alberghi,  hotels, 
restaurants  and  the  like. 

Ventimiglia  is  not  unlovely,  neither  is  it 
lovely  in  a  picturesque  romantic  sense.  Its  site 
is  charming,  on  the  banks  of  the  tumbling  Roja 
at  the  base  of  the  Alps  of  Piedmont,  just  where 
they  plunge,  from  a  height  of  a  thousand  or 
twelve  hundred  metres,  down  into  the  lapping 
Mediterranean  waves. 

Ventimiglia  is,  practically,  the  frontier  town 
of  Piedmont,  and  it  was  fought  for  by  all  the 
warring  houses  of  these  parts  in  the  middle 
ages.  The  Genoese  held  it  for  a  time,  then  the 
Counts  of  Provence  and  the  Duke  of  Savoy.  It 
was  a  game  of  give-and-take  all  round,  and  in 


86      Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

the  melee  most  of  the  town's  mediaeval  monu- 
ments have  disappeared. 

Across  the  Nervia,  to  the  north,  is  Monte 
Appio,  one  of  the  chief  spurs  of  the  Maritime 
Alps  in  Italy.  On  a  jutting  crag  of  rock,  in 
plain  view  from  the  town  below,  is  an  ancient 
Roman  castellum.  Two  fragmentary  towers 
alone  remain,  and  as  a  ruin,  even,  it  is  beneath 
consideration.  One  only  notices  it  in  passing 
and  recalls  the  more  magnificent  Tower  of  Au- 
gustus at  La  Turbie,  high  above  Monte  Carlo's 
rock,  and  still  in  plain  view  of  Ventimiglia  — 
with  a  good  glass. 

A  fine  relic  of  the  Dorias  —  that  great  family 
of  great  Genoese  —  is  still  to  be  seen  in  pictur- 
esque ruin  at  Dolce  Acqua,  a  few  miles  further 
up  the  valley  of  the  torrent. 

Bordighera  is  the  first  of  the  Italian  Riviera 
winter  stations  for  invalids.  That  describes 
it  perfectly.  Its  surroundings  are  delightful 
enough,  but  there  is  little  that  is  attractive 
about  the  place  itself.  The  automobilist  will 
have  no  trouble  finding  his  way  through  the 
town  if  he  keeps  straight  on  but  drives  care- 
fully and  avoids  the  invalids  and  baby  car- 
riages. 

It  was  a  sailor  of  Bordighera  who  gave  the 
order  to  ' '  wet  the  ropes  "  —  an  old  sea-faring 


In  Liguria  87 

trick,  known  the  world  over  —  when  the  obe- 
lisk on  the  Piazza  san  Pietro  at  Rome,  erected 
by  Sixte-Quint,  was  tottering  on  its  base.  In 
return  for  the  service  he  asked  the  favour  of 
the  Pope  that  his  native  town  should  have  the 
honour  of  supplying  the  churches  of  Rome  with 
their  greenery  on  Palm  Sunday.  The  supply- 
ing of  palm  branches  and  the  exploiting  of  semi- 
invalids  are  the  chief  industries  of  Bordighera. 

San  Remo  is  very  like  Bordighera,  except 
that  it  is  an  improvement  on  it.  The  quarter 
where  the  great  hotels  are  found  looks  like  all 
towns  of  its  class,  but  the  old  town  with  its 
narrow  canyon-like  streets,  its  buttressed  roofs 
and  walls,  still  breathes  of  the  mediaeval  spirit. 
It  is  as  crowded  a  quarter,  where  dwell  men, 
women  and  children,  —  seemingly  children 
mostly,  —  as  can  be  found  east  of  Grand,  Canal 
or  Hester  Streets,  in  down-town  New  York. 
The  automobile  tourist  will  not  care  much  for 
San  Remo  unless  he  is  hungry,  in  which  case 
the  Hotel  de  Paris  will  cater  for  him  a  little 
better  than  any  other  of  the  town's  resort 
hotels. 

The  road  continues  close  beside  the  sea,  as 
it  has  since  Frejus  in  the  Var  was  passed, 
sweeping  around  bold  promontories  on  a  shelf 
of   rock,    tunnelling   through    some    mountain 


88      Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

spur,  dipping  down  to  sea-level  here  and  rising 
three  or  five  hundred  metres  ten  kilometres 
further  on. 

This  delightfully  disposed  road  by  the  sea 
may  well  be  reviled  by  the  automobilist  because 
of  the  fact  that  every  half  dozen  kilometres  or 
so  it  crosses  the  railway  at  the  same  level. 
These  level  crossings  are  about  as  dangerous 
as  the  American  variety;  in  a  way  more  so. 
They  are  barred  simply  by  a  great  swinging 
tree-trunk,  which,  of  all  things,  swings  outwards 
and  across  the  road  when  not  in  use.  Even 
when  closed  this  bar  is  so  placed  that  an  auto- 
mobile at  speed  could  well  enough  slip  beneath 
it,  and  the  passengers  who  were  not  thrown  out 
and  killed  by  this  operation  surely  would  be  by 
the  train  which  would  probably  come  along  be- 
fore they  could  pick  themselves  up. 

These  railway  barriers  are  almost  always 
closed,  whether  a  train  is  due  or  not,  and  it  is 
commonly  said  that  they  are  only  opened  for 
the  automobilist  on  the  payment  of  a  few  soldi. 
This,  the  writer  knows  to  be  calumny.  It  is 
conceivable  that  the  circumstance  has  been  met 
with,  and  it  is  conceivable  that,  in  many  more 
instances,  stranger  automobilists  have  scat- 
tered coin  in  their  wake  which  led  to  the  devel- 
opment of  the  practice,  but  all  the  same  one 


In  Liguria  89 

need  not,  should  not,  in  fact,  countenance  any 
such  practice  of  blackmail.  The  mere  fact  that 
these  obstructions  are  there  is  enough  of  a  pen- 
ance for  the  automobilist,  who  in  ten  hours  of 
running  will  certainly  lose  one  or  two  hours 
waiting  for  the  gates  to  be  opened. 

These  Italian  coast  line  vistas  are  quite  the 
most  savagely  beautiful  of  any  along  the  Med- 
iterranean. We  rave  over  the  strip  dominated 
by  La  Turbie  and  Monte  Carlo's  rock,  and  over 
the  Corniche  d'Or  of  the  Esterel  in  France,  but 
really  there  is  nothing  quite  so  primitive  and 
unspoiled  in  its  beauty  as  this  less-known  itin- 
erary. The  background  mountains  rise,  grim, 
behind,  and  beneath.  At  the  bottom  of  the  cliff, 
a  hundred  metres  below  the  road  on  which  you 
ride,  break  the  soapy  waves  of  the  sea.  Gulls 
circle  about  uttering  their  shrill  cries,  an  eagle 
soars  above,  and  far  below  a  fisherman  pushes 
lazily  at  his  oar  in  the  conventional  stand-up 
Mediterranean  fashion,  or  a  red-brown  latteen- 
rigged  fishing  boat  darts  in  or  out  of  some  half- 
hidden  bay  or  calanque.  The  whole  poetic  en- 
semble is  hard  to  beat,  and  yet  this  part  of  the 
average  Italian  journey  is  usually  rolled  off  in 
express  trains,  with  never  a  stop  between  the 
frontier  and  Genoa,  most  of  the  time  passing 
through  the  fifty  rock-cut  tunnels  which  allow 


90       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

tlie  railway  access  to  these  parts.     To  see  this 
wonderful  strip  of  coast  line  at  its  best  it  must  i 
be  seen  from  the  highroad. 

At  Arma,  as  the  road  runs  along  at  the 
water's  very  edge,  is  an  old  square  donjon 
tower,  reminding  one  of  those  great  keeps  of 
England  and  of  Foulque's  Nerra  in  Normandy. 
Its  history  is  lost  in  oblivion,  but  it  is  a  land- 
mark to  be  noted. 

Porto  Maurizio  is  the  very  ideal  of  a  small 
Mediterranean  sea-port.  It  is  a  hill-top  town 
too,  in  that  it  crowns  a  promontory  jutting  sea- 
wards, forming  a  sheltering  harbour  for  its 
busy  coming  and  going  of  small-fry  shipping. 

Olive  oil  and  a  sweet  white  wine,  like  that  of 
Cyprus,  grown  on  the  hillsides  roundabout, 
form  the  chief  of  the  merchandise  sent  out  from 
the  little  port ;  but  the  whole  town  bears  a  pros- 
perous well-kept  air  that  makes  one  regret  that 
it  had  not  a  battery  of  "  sights,"  in  order  that 
one  might  linger  a  while  in  so  pleasant  a  place. 
Porto  Maurizio 's  church  is  a  remarkably  vast 
and  handsome  building. 

Oneglia,  the  birthplace  of  the  great  Genoese 
admiral,  Andrea  Doria,  lies  just  beyond.  Wine 
in  skins,  hung  up  on  rafters  to  mellow,  seems 
to  be  Oneglia 's  substitute  for  wine  cellars,  but 
otherwise  the  hurried  traveller  at  Oneglia  re- 


In  Liguria  91 

marks  nothing  but  that  it  is  a  "  resort  "  with 
big  hotels  and  big  gardens  and  many  guests 
lolling  about  killing  time.  The  older  part  of 
the  town,  with  the  wine  skins,  is  decidedly  the 
most  interesting  feature. 

At  Marina-Andora  is  the  ruin  of  an  old  castle 
with  a  ghostly  legend  to  it  to  add  an  attrac- 
tion it  might  not  otherwise  have.  A  Papal 
Nuncio  was  one  day  murdered  here  within  its 
walls  and  ''  in  extremis  "  the  prelate  called 
down  curses  upon  the  surrounding  country, 
praying  that  it  might  wither  and  dry  up.  It 
must  have  been  an  efficacious  imprecation  as  the 
country  roundabout  looks  like  a  desert  waste. 
Not  an  olive  nor  an  orange  grove  is  in  sight 
and  only  a  few  scrubby  vineyards  dot  the  land- 
scape. 

At  the  Capo  delle  Melle,  a  dozen  kilometres 
beyond,  it  all  changes  and  the  land  blossoms 
again,  though  truth  to  tell  both  the  wine  and 
olive  products  have  the  reputation  of  falling 
off  in  quality  as  one  goes  further  east. 

Alassio  is  a  now  well-developed  Italian  sea- 
side resort.  The  Italians  and  the  Germans  fill 
it  to  overflowing  at  all  seasons  of  the  year,  and 
prices  are  mounting  skywards  with  a  rapidity 
which  would  do  credit  to  Monte  Carlo  itself. 
There  is  a  considerable  fishing  and  coastwise 


92       Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

trade  at  Alassio  which  along  the  quais  endows 
it  with  a  certain  picturesqueness,  and  the  chief 
hotel  is  quartered  in  a  seventeenth  century 
palazzo,  formerly  belonging  to  the  Marchese 
Durante.  Alassio  took  its  name  from  Alassia, 
a  daughter  of  Otho  the  Great,  who,  fleeing  from 
the  paternal  roof,  came  here  with  her  lover 
long  years  ago.  This  was  the  beginning  of  the 
development  of  Alassio  as  a  Mediterranean  re- 
sort. And  the  Germans  have  been  coming  in 
increasing  numbers  ever  since. 

Off  shore  is  the  isle  of  Gallinaria.  It  has  a 
circular  tower  on  it,  and  a  legend  goes  with  it 
that  the  name  of  the  island  is  derived  from  a 
species  of  hens  and  chickens  which  were  bred 
here.  The  connection  seems  a  little  vague,  but 
for  the  sake  of  variation,  it  is  here  given. 

Here  and  there  as  the  road  winds  along  the 
coast  some  vine-clad  ruin  of  a  castle  tower  is 
passed,  and  the  background  foot-hills  of  the 
Alps  are  peopled  with  toy  villages  and  towns 
like  Switzerland  itself. 

Albenga  is  primarily  a  great  big  overgrown 
coast  town  of  to-day,  but  was  formerly  the  an- 
cient metropolis  of  a  minor  political  division 
of  Liguria,  and  the  one  time  ally  of  Carthage. 
Evidences  of  this  fallen  pride  of  place  are  not 
wanting  in  Albenga  to-day.     There  are  innu- 


In  Liguria  93 

merable  great  brick  and  stone  towers,  now  often 
built  into  some  surrounding  structure.  Three 
may  be  remarked  as  landmarks  of  the  town's 
great  civic  and  military  glory  of  the  past :  the 
Torre  de  Marchese  Malespina,  the  Torre  dei 
Guelfi,  and  another,  unnamed,  built  up  into  the 
present  Casa  del  Commune. 

Albenga  is  not  a  resort,  since  it  has  the  repu- 
tation of  being  an  unheal thful  place,  but  prob- 
ably this  is  not  so  as  there  is  no  particular 
squalidness  to  be  noticed,  save  that  incident  to 
the  workaday  affairs  of  factories,  workshops 
and  shipping.  The  inhabitants  of  the  neigh- 
bouring towns  profess  to  recognize  the  native 
of  Albenga  at  a  glance  when  they  hail  him  with 
the  remark:  "  Hai  faccia  di  Albenga."  — 
*'  You  have  the  Albenga  face.'*  This  is  prob- 
ably local  jealousy  only,  and  is  not  really  con- 
tempt. 

A  short  way  out  from  Albenga  is  the  Ponte 
Lungo,  an  old  Roman  bridge  of  the  time  of  the 
Emperor  Honorius.  Savona,  the  largest  place 
between  the  frontier  and  Genoa,  is  still  fifty 
kilometres  to  the  eastward,  but  midway  between 
it  and  Albenga  is  Finale  Marina,  a  town  of  one 
main  street,  two  enormous  painted  churches,  an 
imposing  fortification  wall,  a  palm-planted 
promenade    and    a   municipal    palace    bearing, 


94      Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

over  its  portal,  the  arms  of  a  visiting  Spanish 
monarch  who  ruled  here  temporarily  in  the  fif- 
teenth century. 

The  Castello  Gavone,  on  a  hillside  above  the 
town  and  back  from  the  coast,  is  a  ruin,  but 
its  picturesque  outer  walls,  with  diamond-cut 
stone  facets,  like  those  of  the  great  round  tower 
of  Milan  or  of  Tantallon  Castle  in  Scotland, 
are  quite  remarkable. 

Finale  Marina's  Albergo  Grimaldi  is  housed 
in  an  old  chateau  of  some  noble  of  the  days 
when  the  town  was  the  capital  of  a  Marquisate. 
Not  much  changed  is  the  old  chateau,  except 
to  put  new  wine  in  the  old  bottles  and  new  linen 
on  the  antique  beds.  To  be  sure  there  are  elec- 
tric push-buttons  in  the  chambers,  but  as  they 
are  useless  they  can  hardly  be  taken  into  con- 
sideration. 

The  Albergo  Grimaldi  has  scant  accommoda- 
tion for  automobiles.  Three  might  range  them- 
selves along  the  wall  in  the  lower  corridor,  and 
would  indeed  be  well  enough  housed,  though  in 
no  sense  is  there  the  least  semblance  of  a  ga- 
rage. You  pay  nothing  additional  for  this,  and 
that's  something  in  Italy  where  automobiles  — 
in  the  small  towns  —  are  still  regarded  as  me- 
chanical curiosities  and  their  occupants  as 
fanatics  with   more  money   than  good   sense. 


In  Liguria  95 

The  Italian  country  population  is  by  no  means 
hostile  to  the  automobilist,  but  their  good  na- 
ture, even,  is  often  exasperating. 

Finale  Marina  is  the  best  stopping  place 
between  Menton  and  Genoa  if  one  is  travelling 
by  road,  and  would  avoid  the  resorts. 

Noli,  just  beyond  the  Capo  di  Noli,  is  an  un- 
important small  town;  nevertheless  it  is  the 
proud  possessor  of  a  collection  of  ruined  walls 
and  towers  which  would  be  a  pride  to  any  medi- 
aeval "  borgo."  Noli,  like  Albenga,  was  once 
the  chief  town  of  a  little  political  division ;  but 
to-day  it  is  a  complete  nonentity. 

In  bright  sunshine,  from  the  road  winding 
over  the  Capo  di  Noli,  one  may  see  the  smoke 
of  Genoa's  chimneys  and  shipping  rising,  cloud- 
like, on  the  horizon  far  away  to  the  eastward, 
and  may  even  descry  that  classic  landmark,  the 
great  lighthouse  called  ''  La  Lanterna  "  at  the 
end  of  the  mole  jutting  out  between  San  Pier 
d 'Arena  and  Genoa. 

A  castle-crowned  rocky  islet,  the  Isola  dei 
Bergeggi,  lies  close  off  shore  beneath  the  Capo 
di  Vado,  itself  crowned  with  a  seventeenth  cen- 
tury fortress  cut  out  of  the  very  rock. 

Still  following  the  rocky  coastline,  one  draws 
slowly  up  on  Savona.  Savona  is  backed  up  by 
olive  gardens  and  pine-clad  hills,  while  above, 


96      Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

away  from  the  coast,  roll  the  first  foothills  of 
the  Apennines,  their  nearby  slopes  and  crests 
dotted,  here  and  there,  with  some  grim  fortress 
of  to-day  or  a  watch  tower  of  mediaeval  times. 
The  Alps  are  now  dwindling  into  the  Apen- 
nines, but  the  change  is  hardly  perceptible. 

Above  the  roofs  and  chimneys  of  the  town 
itself  rises  an  old  tower  of  masonry  on  which 
is  perched  a  colossal  madonna,  a  venerated 
shrine  of  the  Ligurian  sailor-folk.  It  bears  an 
inscription  which  seems  to  scan  equally  well  in 
school-book  Latin  or  colloquial  Italian. 

"  In  mare  irato,  in  subita  procella 
Invoco  te,  nostra  benigna  stella." 

Mago,  the  Carthaginian,  made  Savona  a  ref- 
uge after  his  sack  of  Genoa.  The  Genoese,  in 
turn,  came  along  and  blocked  up  the  port  out  of 
sheer  jealousy,  lest  it  might  become  a  commer- 
cial rival  of  Genoa  itself. 

The  bay  of  Savona  is  delightful,  even  Words- 
worth, who  mostly  sang  of  lakes  and  larks,  re- 
marked it,  though  in  no  way  is  it  superior  in 
beauty  to  a  score  of  other  indentations  in  the 
Mediterranean  coastline  from  Marseilles  around 
to  Naples. 

The  automobilist  will  best  remember  Savona 


In  Liguria  97 

for  its  exceedingly  bad  exits  and  entrances,  and 
the  clean  and  unencumbered  streets  in  the  town 
itself.  Here  are  great  wide  park-like  thorough- 
fares flagged  with  flat  smooth  stones  which  are 
a  dream  to  the  automobilist.  There  never  were 
such  superbly  laid  paving  blocks  as  one  fimds  in 
Savona. 

As  one  leaves  Savona  he  actually  begins  to 
sense  the  smoke  and  activities  of  Genoa  in  his 
nostrils,  albeit  they  are  a  good  fifty  kilometres 
away  as  yet ;  around  a  half  a  dozen  jutting  bar- 
rier capes,  and  across  innumerable  railway 
tracks. 

Varazze  is  not  a  stopping  point  on  many 
travellers'  Italian  journeyings  and,  to  state  it 
frankly,  perhaps,  for  the  majority,  it  is  not 
worth  visiting.  It  is  a  sort  of  overflow  Sunday 
resort  for  the  people  of  Genoa,  in  that  each  of 
its  two  hotels  have  dining  accommodation  for 
a  hundred  people  or  more.  Aside  from  this  it 
is  endowed  with  a  certain  quaint  picturesque- 
ness.  It  has  a  palm-tree-lined  quay  which  bor- 
ders a  string  of  ship-building  yards  where  the 
wooden  walls  of  Genoa's  commerce-carrying 
craft  were  formerly  built  in  large  numbers,  and 
where,  to-day,  a  remnant  of  this  industry  is 
still  carried  on.  Great  long-horned  white  oxen 
haul  timber  through  the  crooked  streets  and 


98      Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

along  the  quays,  and  there  is  ever  a  smell  of 
tar  and  the  sound  of  sawing  and  hammering. 
An  artist  with  pen  or  brush  will  like  Varazze 
better  than  any  other  class  of  traveller.  The 
automobilist  will  have  all  he  can  manage  in 
dodging  the  ox  teams  and  their  great  trundling 
loads  of  timber. 

There  is  a  fragment  of  a  ruined  castle  near 
by  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  and  farther 
away,  back  in  the  hills,  is  a  monastery  called 
*'  II  Deserto,"  and  properly  enough  named  it 
is.  It  was  founded  by  a  lady  of  the  Pallavicini 
family  who  as  a  recompense  —  it  is  to  be  pre- 
sumed —  insisted  on  being  represented  in  the 
painted  altar-piece  as  the  Madonna,  though  clad 
in  mediaeval  Genoese  dress.    What  vanity ! 

Cogoletto,  practically  a  Grenoese  suburb, 
claims  to  be  the  birth  place  of  Columbus.  Per- 
haps indeed  it  is  so,  as  his  father  Dominico  was 
known  to  be  a  property  owner  near  Genoa. 
Savona,  Oneglia  and  Genoa  itself  all  have  mem- 
ories of  the  family,  so  the  discoverer  was  of 
Ligurian  parentage  without  doubt. 

''  Sestri-Ponente !  Cornigliano-Ligure !  San 
Pier  d 'Arena!  "  (with  its  Villa  Serra  and  its 
Babylonian-like  gardens)  cry  out  the  railway 
employees  at  each  stop  of  the  Genoa-bound 
train ;   and  the  same  names  roll  up  on  the  auto- 


In  Liguria  99 

inobilist's  road  map  witli  a  like  persistency. 
Each  class  of  traveller  wonders  why  Genoa  is 
not  reached  more  quickly,  and  the  automobilist, 
for  the  last  dozen  kilometres,  has  been  cursed 
with  a  most  exasperating,  always-in-the-way 
tramway,  with  innumerable  carts,  badly  paved 
roads  and  much  mud.  The  approaches  to  al- 
most all  great  cities  are  equally  vile ;  Genoa  is 
no  exception  and  the  traffic  in  the  city  —  and 
in  all  the  built  up  suburbs  —  keeps  to  the  left, 
a  local  custom  which  is  inexplicable  since  in  the 
open  country  it  goes  to  the  right. 

Voltri  is  a  long  drawn-out,  uninteresting, 
waterside  town  with  more  chimneys  belching 
smoke  and  cinders  in  strong  contrast  to  the 
pine-clad  background  hills,  in  which  nestle  the 
suburban  villas  of  the  Doria,  the  Galliera  and 
the  Brignole  families  of  other  days. 

Pegli  is  but  a  continuation  of  Voltri,  Genoa 
La  Superba  is  still  a  dozen  kilometres  away. 
Pegli  is  a  resort  of  some  importance  and  its 
chief  attraction  is  the  Villa  Pallavicini,  with 
a  labyrinth  of  grottoes,  subterranean  lakes, 
cement  moulded  rocks,  Chinese  pagodas  and  the 
like.  It  is  not  lovely,  but  is  commonly  reckoned 
a  sight  worth  stopping  off  to  see.  The  Ital- 
ians call  this  hodge  podge  *'  a  ferocity  of  inven- 
tion."   The  phrase  is  worthy  of  peipetuation. 


100     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

The  Palazzo  Pallavicini  was  tlie  suburban 
residence  of  the  banker  of  the  Court  of  Borne, 
but  he  was  a  sort  of  renegade  financier,  for  he 
went  off  to  England  with  the  churchly  funds 
and  became  an  English  country  gentleman,  in 
the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  His  ' '  past  ' '  was 
known,  for  some  poet-historian  of  the  time 
branded  him  with  the  following  couplet :  — 

"  Sir  Horatio  Palvasene, 
Who  robbed  the  Pope  to  pay  the  Queen." 

The  Villa  Doria  at  Pegli  was  a  work  of  Can- 
zio  built  for  one  of  the  richest  merchants  of 
Genoa  in  the  days  of  Charles  V.  It  was,  like 
its  contemporaries,  a  gorgeous  establishment, 
but  in  popular  fancy  it  enjoys  not  a  whit  of  the 
enthusiasm  bestowed  upon  the  stagy,  tricky 
bric-a-brac  and  stucco  Villa  Pallavicini. 

The  entrance  to  ''  Genoa  la  Superba  "  by 
road  from  the  west  is  a  sorry  spectacle,  a  grim, 
crowded  thoroughfare  decidedly  workaday  and 
none  too  cleanly.  From  San  Pier  d 'Arena  one 
comes  immediately  within  the  confines  of  Genoa 
itself,  just  after  circling  the  western  port  and 
passing  the  sky-piercing  ^'  La  Lanterna,"  one 
of  the  most  ancient  lighthouses  extant,  dating 
from  1547. 


In  Liguria 


101 


Genoa  is  neglected  or  ignored  by  most  trav- 
ellers and  searchers  after  the  picturesque  in 
Italy.  This  is  a  mistake,  for  Genoa's  park  of 
Acquasola,  the  gardens  of  the  Villa  Eosazza 
and  of  the  Villa  de  Negroni,  and  the  terraces  of 
the  Palazzo  Doria  offer  as  enchanting  a  series 


of  panoramas  as  those  of  Rome  or  Florence, 
and  quite  different,  in  that  they  have  always 
the  vista  of  the  blue  Mediterranean  as  a  back- 
ground. 

Genoa  is  a  bizarre  combination  of  the  old  and 
the  new,  of  the  mountain  and  the  plain,  of  great 
docks  and  wharves,  and  of  streets  of  stairs  ris- 
ing almost  vertically. 


102     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

The  general  effect  of  Grenoa  is  as  if  every- 
thing in  it  had  been  piled  one  on  top  of  another 
until  finally  it  had  to  spread  out  at  the  base. 
Enormous  caserns  fringe  the  heights  and  great 
barracks  line  the  wharves,  while  in  between, 
and  here,  there  and  everywhere,  are  great  and 
venerable  palaces  and  churches  of  marble,  many 
of  them  built  in  layers  of  black  and  white  stone, 
indicating  that  they  were  built  by  the  commune 
in  mediaeval  days,  or  by  one  of  the  four  great 
families  of  Doria,  Grimaldi,  Spinola  or  Fieschi, 
the  only  ones  who  had  the  privilege  of  using 
it. 

Genoa's  labyrinth  of  twisting,  climbing 
streets  and  alleys  are  all  but  impracticable  for 
wheeled  traffic,  and,  for  that  reason,  strangers, 
who  do  not  walk  "  en  tour  "  as  much  as  they 
ought,  save  in  the  corridors  of  picture  galler- 
ies and  the  aisles  of  churches,  know  not  Genoa 
save  its  main  arteries  —  nor  ever  will,  unless 
they  change  their  tactics. 

The  automobile  is  only  useful  in  Genoa  in  get- 
ting in  and  out  of  town,  and  even  that  is  accom- 
plished with  fear  and  trembling  by  the  most 
cold-blooded  chauffeur  that  ever  lived.  What 
with  the  vile  roads,  the  magnificent  distances 
and  the  ceaseless  irresponsible  traffic  of  carts 
and  drays,  ti'amways  and  what  not,  Genoa  is 


In  Liguria  103 

indeed,  of  all  other  cities  on  earth,  in  need  of 
a  boulevard  for  the  new  traffic.  To  get  to  your 
hotel  at  the  further  end  of  the  town  as  you  make 
your  entrance  by  the  road  circling  the  base  of 
"  La  Lanterna,"  can  only  be  likened  to  a  trip 
down  Broadway  in  New  York  at  four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon.  That  would  not  be  pleasure ; 
neither  is  getting  in  and  out  of  Genoa  at  any 
time  between  five  in  the  morning  and  seven  at 
night. 

To  what  degenerate  depths  these  great  pal- 
aces of  the  Genoa  of  other  days  have  fallen  only 
the  curious  and  inquisitive  are  likely  to  know. 
One  into  which  we  penetrated  —  looking  for 
something  which  wasn't  there  —  was  a  veritable 
hive  of  industry,  and  as  cosmopolitan  as  Baby- 
lon. It  was  near  the  Bourse  and  one  entered 
marble  halls  by  a  marble  staircase,  flanked  by 
a  marble  balustrade  and  finished  off  with  newel 
posts  supported  by  marble  lions.  The  great 
entrance  hall  was  surrounded  by  a  colonnade  of 
svelt  marble  columns,  and  in  the  centre  as- 
cended a  monumental  marble  staircase.  Two 
marble  fountains  played  in  au  inner  courtyard, 
which  was  paved  with  marble  flags,  and  a 
statue,  also  marble,  in  a  niche  faced  the  great 
doorway. 

On  the  first  floor  were  more  marble  columns 


104     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

and  a  frescoed  vaulting.  From  the  corridors 
opened  a  battery  of  doors  into  offices  of  all  sorts 
of  industrial  enterprises,  from  one  given  to  ex- 
ploiting a  new  combustible  to  another  which 
was  financing  a  rubber  plantation  in  Abyssinia. 
A  chestnut-roaster  was  perambulating  the  cor- 
ridors with  his  stock  in  trade,  furnace  all  alight, 
and  a  brown-robed  monk  was  begging  his  daily 
bread. 

On  the  next  floor,  up  another  marble  stair- 
case, were  still  other  business  offices,  —  ship- 
ping firms,  wine-factors  and  one  Guiseppe  Bel- 
lini, representing  an  American  factory,  whose 
output  of  agricultural  machinery  is  found  in 
all  four  quarters  of  the  globe.  Breakfast  foods 
were  there,  too,  and  there  was  a  big  lithograph 
of  a  Fall  River  Line  Steamer  on  the  walls.  A 
whole  city  of  merchants  and  agents  were  clois- 
tered here  in  the  five  stories  of  this  one-time 
ducal  abode. 

Up  under  the  roof  was  a  photographer  and 
an  artist's  studio,  where  a  long-haired  Italian 
(Signor  something  or  other,  the  sign  read) 
painted  the  bluest  of  blue  sky  pictures,  and  the 
most  fiery  Vesuvian  eruptions,  to  sell  to  tour- 
ists through  the  medium  of  the  hotel  porters  of 
the  town  below. 

Thus  it  was  that  an  antique  shrine  of  gal- 


In  Liguria  105 

lantry  and  romance  had  become  the  temple  of 
twentieth  century  commerce.  The  noble  arms, 
with  a  heraldic  angel  still  to  be  seen  over  the 
entrance  doorway,  count  for  nothing  to-day,  but 
exist  as  a  vivid  reminder  of  a  glorious  past. 
In  1500  the  palace  was  the  shrine  of  an  artistic 
nobility;   to-day  it  is  a  temple  of  chicanery. 

The  new  part  of  Genoa  imitates  Milan,  as 
Milan  imitates  Paris.  The  galleries  or  arcades 
of  Milan,  Genoa  and  Naj^les,  full  of  shops,  cafes 
and  restaurants,  would  be  admirable  institu- 
tions in  a  more  northerly  clime,  where  the  sun 
is  less  strong  and  rain  more  frequent.  Here 
their  glass  roofs  radiate  an  insufferable  heat, 
which  only  in  the  coldest  and  most  intemperate 
months  is  at  all  bearable.  Nevertheless  these 
arcades  are  an  amusing  and  characteristic  fea- 
ture of  the  large  Italian  cities. 

Hotels  in  Genoa  for  the  automobilist  are  of 
all  ranks  and  at  all  prices.  Bertolini's  has  ga- 
rage accommodation  for  twenty-five  automo- 
biles, and  charges  two  francs  and  a  half  to  four 
francs  a  night  for  the  accommodation,  which  is 
dear  or  not  accordingly  as  you  may  feel. 

The  Albergo  Unione,  on  the  Palazzo  Cam- 
petto,  has  no  garage  (you  will  have  to  seek  out 
the  F.  I.  A.  T.  garage  a  mile  or  more  away), 
but  you  get  something  that  is  thoroughly  Ital- 


106     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 


ian  and  very  well  ap 
pointed    too, 
reasonable  prices. 

The  Genoese  subur- 
ban villas  are  a  part 
of  Genoa  itself,  in  that 
they  were  built  and  in- 
habited by  nobles  of  the 
city. 

To  the  east  of  Genoa, 
at  Albaro,  is  a  collec- 
tion of  villas  which 
comes  upon  one  as  a 
great  surprise. 

In  reality  they  are 
suburban  palaces,  with 
here  and  there  more 
modest  villas,  and  again 
mere  modest  dwellings. 
All  are  surrounded 
with  hedges  of  aloes, 
vines,  olive  and  orange 
groves,  and  the  effect  is 
of  the  coun- 
try. 

In  the 
Villa  del 
Paradiso 


In  Liguria  107 

Lord  Byron  was  once  a  guest.  Its  loggia  was 
a  favourite  lounging  place,  and  the  whole  aspect 
of  the  villa  and  its  grounds  is  as  paradisal  as 
one  has  any  right  to  expect  to  find  on  earth. 

The  Villa  Cambiaso  was  built  in  1557  by 
Alessi  from  designs,  it  is  commonly  said,  of  the 
great  Michael  Angelo.  The  ancient  Sardinian 
Palazzo  Imperiali  is  also  here,  and  is  popularly 
known  as  the  Albero  d'Oro. 

A  dozen  miles  to  the  east  the  gardens  of  the 
Villa  de  Franchi  extend  down,  stair  by  stair, 
and  fountain  by  fountain,  to  the  Mediterranean 
rocks.  The  villa  is  a  typical  terrace-house,  long, 
and  almost  dwarfish  on  the  front,  where  the 
*'  piano  nobile  "  is  also  the  ground  floor;  but 
on  the  side  facing  the  sea  it  is  a  story  higher, 
and  of  stately  proportions,  and  is  flanked  by 
widely  extending  wings.  It  is  the  typical  Li- 
gurian  coast  villa,  one  of  a  species  which  has 
set  the  copy  for  many  other  seacoast  villas  and 
grounds. 


CHAPTER   VI 


THE   KIVIEEA  DI   LEVANTE 


The  gorgeous  panorama  of  coast  scenery 
continues  east  of  Genoa  as  it  has  obtained  for 
some  three  hundred  kilometres  to  the  west.  In 
fact  the  road  through  Nervi  and  Recco  is  finer, 
if  anything,  and  more  hilly,  though  less  precip- 
itous, than  that  portion  immediately  to  the  west- 
ward of  Genoa. 

Between  Genoa  and  Spezia  the  railway 
passes  through  fifty  tunnels.  The  traveller  by 
the  high  road  has  decidedly  the  best  of  it,  but 
there  are  always  those  level  crossings  to  take 
into  consideration  though  fewer  of  them. 

Nervi  is  a  place  of  German  hotels,  much 
beer  and  an  unaccommodating  tram  line.  The 
Grand  Hotel  gives  access  to  the  gardens  of  the 
villa  of  the  Marchese  Gropollo,  and  this  of  it- 
self is  an  attraction  that  Nervi 's  other  rather 
tawdry  inns  lack. 

Recco  is  an  attractive  and  populous  town,  but 
has  no  monuments  of  note. 

108 


The  Riviera  di  Levant e  109 

The  highroad  here  climbs  up  the  mouutain 
of  Portofino  where  the  promontory  joins  the 
mainland,  and  drops  down  the  other  side  to 
Rapallo,  Santa  Margherita,  Cervara  and  Porto- 
fino. High  up  on  the  mountain  cape  is  the  Mon- 
astery of  San  Fruttoso,  a  i^icturesque  and  soli- 
tary conventual  establishment  in  whose  chapel 
are  many  tombs  of  the  Dorias,  all  with  good 
Gothic  sculptures.  In  the  convent  of  Cervara, 
en  route  to  the  village  of  Portofino  on  the  east 
side  of  the  cape,  Frangois  I,  just  after  he  lost 
''  all  save  honour  "  at  the  battle  of  Pavia,  was 
imprisoned  previous  to  his  voyage  to  Spain  in 
the  galleys  which  were  to  carry  him  a  captive 
to  the  domain  of  Charles  Quint. 

The  roads  along  here  are  quite  the  best  of 
the  whole  extent  of  the  eastern  and  western 
Italian  Rivieras.  They  are  encumbered  with  a 
new  class  of  traffic  not  met  with  further  west. 
Up  over  the  mountain  of  Portofino  winds  the 
road  in  genuine  mountain  fashion  though  beau- 
tifully graded  and  kept.  At  almost  any  turning 
one  is  likely  to  meet  a  great  lumbering  char-a- 
banc  crowded  with  tourists,  with  five,  six  or 
eight  horses  caparisoned  like  a  circus  pageant, 
with  bells  around  their  necks,  pheasants'  fea- 
thers bobbing  in  their  top-knots,  and  a  lusty 
Ligurian   on   the   hindermost    seat   blowing   a 


110     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

coaching  horn  for  all  he  is  worth.  This  is  the 
Italian  and  German  pleasure  seeker's  way  of 
amusing  himself.  He  likes  it,  the  rest  of  us 
don't! 

Santa  Margherita  is  now  a  full-blown  resort 
with  great  hotels,  bathing-machines  and  all  the 
usual  attributes  of  a  place  of  its  class.  Lace- 
making  and  coral-fishing  are  the  occupations  of 
the  inhabitants  who  do  not  live  off  of  exploit- 
ing the  tourists.  Both  products  are  made  here 
(and  in  Belgium  and  Birmingham)  in  the  imi- 
tation varieties,  so  one  had  best  beware. 

If  one  doesn't  speak  Italian,  German  will 
answer  in  all  these  resorts  of  the  Levantine 
Riviera,  quite  as  well  as  French  or  English. 
The  "  Tea-Shop  "  and  "  American  Bar  "  signs 
here  give  way  to  those  of  *'  Munich  "  and 
*'  Pilsner." 

The  village  of  Portofino  itself  is  delightful; 
a  quaint  little  fishing  port  surrounded  by  tree- 
clad  hills  running  to  the  water's  edge.  There 
is  a  Hotel  Splendide,  once  a  villa  of  the  accepted 
Ligurian  order,  and  a  less  pretentious,  more 
characteristic,  Albergo  Delfino  lower  down  on 
the  quay.  The  arms  of  the  little  port  are  a 
spouting  dolphin  as  befits  its  seafaring  aspect, 
so  the  Albergo  Delfino  certainly  ought  to  have 
the  preference  for  this  reason  if  no  other. 


110     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

coaching  iiorn  I'or  all  ln^  iy  worth.     Tlus  is  the 
Italian  and  Gernian  pleasure  s  way  of 

amusing  him  ie  likes  it,  the  rest  of  us 

don't! 

P'-  ^  .^sort 

vi  »  ;il!  the 

t-i  class.  Lace- 
•  and  ">:  li  hshing  are  the  occupations  of 
ine  lUhabitaiits  who  do  not  live  off  of  exploit- 
ing til"  tourists.  Both  products  are  made  here 
(and  in  Belgium  and  Birmingham)  in  the  imi- 
tation varieties,  so  one  had  best  beware. 

If  one  doesn't  s^^FyCtHfiXn,  German  will 
answer  in  all  these  resorts  of  the  Levantine 
Kiviera,  quite  as  well  as  French  or  English. 
The  ''  Tea-Shop  "  and  *'  American  Bar  "  signs 
hero  give  way  to  those  of  "  Munich  "  and 
"  Pilsner." 

■   '  village  of  Portotino  itself  is  delightful; 
it  little  fishing  port  surrounded  by  tree- 
ils  running  to  the  water's  edge.    There 
is  Splendide,  once  a  villa  of  the  accepted 

Li  »rder,  and  a  less  pretentious,  more 

chit:  stic,  Albergo  Delfino  lower  down  on 

the  (|u,!\      Tlie  arms  of  the  little  port  are  a 
spouting  dolphin  as  befits  its  seafaring  aspect,         y'^ 
so  the  Albcij'o  Delfino  certainly  ought  to  have 
the  preferenoo  for  this  reason  if  no  other. 


"it 


^a^M^ 


The  Riviera  di  Levante 


111 


On  the  clilf  road  rumiiug  around  the  proiu- 
ontory  from  Portofmo  to  liapallo  are  a  half  a 
dozen  more  or  less  modern  villas  of  question- 
able architecture,  but  of  imposing  proportions, 
and  one  and  all  delightfully  disposed. 

The  Villa  Pagana  is  the  property  of  the  Mar- 


GULrif 


chese  Spinola,  and  the  Castel  Paraggi,  the 
property  of  a  gentleman  prosaically  named 
Brown,  is  theatrically  and  delightfully  dis- 
posed, though  bizarre  in  form. 

Eapallo,  at  the  head  of  tlie  bay,  is  a  contin- 
uation of  what  has  gone  before.  There  are 
great  hotels  and  pensions,  and  many  of  them. 
Its  campaniles  and  church  towers  set  off  the 
framing  of  Eapallo  delightfully.    The  Hotel  de 


112     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

1 'Europe  has  more  than  once  been  the  abode 
of  Queen  Margherita  of  Italy,  and  most  of  the 
notables  who  pass  this  way.  The  hotel  curi- 
ously enough  seems  none  the  worse  for  it;  it 
is  good,  reasonable  in  price  and  conveniently 
situated  on  the  quay,  overlooking  a  picturesque 
granite  tower  built  up  from  a  foundation  sunk 
in  the  waters  of  the  Mediterranean.  The  Cor- 
sair Dragutte,  a  buccaneer  of  romantic  days, 
came  along  and  plundered  these  Ligurian  towns 
as  often  as  he  felt  like  it.  Frequently  they  paid 
no  attention  to  his  visits,  save  to  give  up  what 
blackmail  and  tribute  he  demanded;  but  Ra- 
pallo  built  this  tower  as  a  sort  of  watch  tower 
or  fortress.  It  is  an  admirable  example  of  a 
sentinel  watch  tower,  and  might  well  be  classed 
as  a  diminutive  fortress-chateau. 

From  Rapallo  to  Chiavari  the  coast  road 
winds  and  rises  and  falls  with  wonderful  va- 
riety between  villa  gardens  and  vineyards.  On 
the  slopes  above  are  dotted  tiny  dwellings,  and 
church  towers  point  skywards  in  most  unex- 
pected places. 

The  chief  architectural  attributes  of  Chiavari 
are  its  arcaded  house  fronts,  a  queer  blend  of 
round  and  pointed  arches,  and  columns  of  all 
orders.     The  effect  is  undeniably  good.     The 


The  Riviera  di  Levante  113 

town  was  one  of  the  most  important  in  the  old 
Genoese  Republic,  save  the  capital  itself. 

The  towers  scattered  here  and  there  through 
the  town  and  in  the  neighbourhood  are  all  feu- 
dal relics,  albeit  they  are  fragmentary.  The 
Castle  which  the  native  points  out  with  pride 
is  neither  very  magnificent  nor  very  elegant, 
but  is  indicative  of  the  style  of  building  of  the 
feudal  time  in  these  parts.  Decidedly  the  best 
things  of  Chiavari  are  its  house  fronts,  and 
some  crazy  old  streets  running  back  from  the 
main  thoroughfares.  There  are  some  slate 
quarries  in  the  neighbourhood  and  a  ten  foot 
slab,  larger  than  the  top  of  a  billiard  table,  can 
be  cut  if  occasion  requires.  The  church  of  San 
Salvatore  near  Lavagna,  where  the  quarries 
are,  was  founded  by  Pope  Innocent  IV  in  1243. 

Lavagna,  near  by,  has  a  Palazzo  Rosso,  in 
that  it  is  built  of  a  reddish  stone,  though  that 
is  not  its  official  name.  It  was  an  appanage  of 
the  Pieschi  family,  who  owned  to  Popes,  Cardi- 
nals and  soldiers  in  the  gallant  days  of  the 
Grenoese  Republic.  Sestri-Levante,  a  half  a 
dozen  kilometres  beyond  Chiavari,  is  the  last  of 
the  Riviera  resorts.  It  is  a  mere  strip  of  villa 
and  hotel-lined  roadway  with  a  delightful  water 
front  and  a  charming  and  idyllic  background. 

Spezia  is  reached  only  by  climbing  a  lengthy 


114     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 


mountain  road  up  over  the  Pass  of  the  Bracco ; 
sixty  kilometres  in  all  from  Sestri  to  Spezia. 
The  highroad  now  leaves  the  coast  to  wind 
around  inland  over  the  lower  slopes  of  the  Ap- 
ennines.   The  railway  itself  follows  the  shore. 

It  is  a  finely  graded  road  with  entrancing 
far-away  vistas  of  the  sea,  the  distant  snow- 
capped summits  of  the  mountains  to  the  north 
and,  off  southward,  the  more  gently  rising  Tus- 
can hills. 

After  having  climbed  some  twenty-one  hun- 
dred feet  above  the  sea,  the  highroad  runs  down 
through  the  valley  of  the  Vara,  until  finally  at 
Spezia,  Italy's  great  marine  arsenal,  one  comes 
again  to  the  Mediterranean  shore. 

Just  before  Spezia  is  reached,  snuggled  close 
in  a  little  bay,  is  Vernazza  —  where  the  wine 
comes  from,  at  least,  the  wine  the  praises  of 
which  were  sung  by  Boccaccio  ' '  as  the  paragon 
of  wines."  Wine  is  still  a  product  of  the  re- 
gion, but  its  quality  may  not  be  what  it  once 
was. 

Spezia  is  a  snug,  conservative  and  exclusive 
military  and  naval  town.  The  gold-lace  and 
blue-cloth  individuals  of  the  ''  service  "  dom- 
inate everything,  even  to  the  waiters  in  the 
hotels  and  cafes.    No  one  else  has  a  show. 

The  Hotel  Croix  de  Malte  (with  a  French 


The  Riviera  di  Levante  115 

name  be  it  observed)  is  the  cliic  hotel  of  Spezia, 
with  prices  on  a  corresponding  scale,  and  no 
garage.  The  Albergo  Italia,  equally  well  sit- 
uated, a  typical  Italian  house  of  its  class,  is 
more  modest  in  its  prices  and  better  as  to  its 
food.  It  has  no  garage  either,  but  under  the 
circumstances,  that  of  itself  is  no  drawback. 
Across  the  street,  in  a  vacant  store,  you  may 
lodge  your  automobile  for  two  francs  a  night, 
or  for  one  franc  if  you  tell  the  ambitious  and 
obliging  little  man  who  runs  it  that  he  demands 
too  much.  He  is  really  the  best  tiling  we  found 
in  Spezia.  We  had  run  out  of  gasoline  in  enter- 
ing the  city,  the  long  run  down  hill  flattened 
out  into  a  plain  just  before  the  town  was 
reached,  but  he  accommodatingly  sent  out  a 
five  gallon  tin  {'^  original  package  "  goods 
from  Philadelphia)  and  would  take  no  increase 
in  price  for  his  trouble.  Such  a  thing  in  the 
automobile  line  ought  to  be  encouraged.  We 
pay  *'  through  the  nose,"  as  the  French  say, 
often  enough  as  it  is. 

Spezia 's  suburban  villas  are  a  natural  out- 
come of  its  environment,  but  they  are  all  mod- 
ern and  have,  none  of  them,  the  flavour  of 
historic  romanticism  about  them. 

An  ancient  castle  tower  on  the  hills  above 
Spezia  is  about  the  only  feudal  ruin  near  by. 


116     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

The  viper,  the  device  of  the  Viseontis,  is  still 
graven  above  its  entrance  door  to  recall  the 
fact  that  the  device  of  the  Milanese  nobles  was 
a  viper,  and  that  their  natures,  too,  took  after 
that  of  the  unlovely  thing.  The  Viper  of  Milan 
and  the  Viseontis  is  a  worthy  cage  companion 
to  the  hedgehog  of  Frangois  I. 

Spezia's  gulf  is  all  that  Spezia  is  not;  ro- 
mantic, lovely  and  varied.  It  was  described  in 
ancient  times  by  Strabo,  the  geographer,  and 
by  Persius.  Little  of  its  topographical  sur- 
roundings or  climatic  attributes  have  changed 
since  that  day. 

The  road  down  the  coast  from  Spezia  is 
marked  on  the  maps  as  perfectly  flat,  but  within 
a  dozen  kilometres,  before  Areola  is  reached, 
is  as  stiff  a  couple  of  hair-pin  turns  as  one  will 
remember  ever  having  come  across  suddenly  in 
his  travels.  They  are  not  formidable  hills,  per- 
haps, but  they  are  surprising,  and  since  one  has 
to  drop  down  again  immediately  to  sea  level 
they  seem  entirely  unnecessary. 

The  river  Magra  which  enters  the  sea  just 
east  of  Spezia  divided  the  Genoese  territory 
from  that  of  Tuscany. 

'*  Macra  che  per  cammin  corto 
Lo  Gonovese  parta  dal  Toscano." 

—  Dante,  "  Paradisio." 


The  Riviera  di  Levante  117 


Sarzana  is  not  a  tourist  point,  but  the  trav- 
eller by  road  will  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  pass  it 
by.  It  has,  curiously  enough,  an  Albergo  della 
Nuova  York,  built  on  the  fortification  walls  of 
feudal  days.  It  is  not  for  this,  though,  that 
one  lingers  at  Sarzana.  The  Bonapartes  were 
originally  descended  from  Sarzana  ancestry. 
It  was  proven  by  contemporary  documents  that 
a  certain  Buonaparte,  a  notary,  lived  here  in 
1264.  Supposedly,  it  was  this  limb  of  the  law 
who  became  the  chief  of  the  Corsican  family. 

The  old  feudal  castle  of  Sarzana,  with  its 
round  tower,  its  moat  and  its  later  Renaissance 
gateway  is  the  very  ideal  of  mouldy  medias- 
valism. 

From  Sarzana,  it  is,  figuratively  speaking, 
but  a  step  to  Carrara  and  Massa,  the  centres 
of  the  marble  industry.  Of  all  the  materials 
the  artist  requires,  none  is  so  much  sought  after 
as  the  pure  white  marble  of  Carrara.  The 
sculptured  marble  of  Carrara  goes  out  into  the 
world  from  thousands  of  ateliers  to  thousands 
of  resting  places  but  it  all  comes  from  this 
great  white  mountainside  in  the  Apennines 
which  has  made  the  region  famous  and  rich. 
This  little  Tuscan  town  of  Carrara  owes  its  all 
to  its,  seemingly,  inexhaustible  stores  of  milk- 
white,  fine-grained  marbles.    More  especially  is 


118     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

the  marble  of  Carrara  in  demand  for  statuary ; 
but  in  all  the  finer  forms  of  carven  stone  it  finds 
its  place  supreme. 

Men  and  beasts,  oxen,  horses  and  mules,  and 
carts  of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  make  the  vicinity 
of  Carrara  the  centre  of  an  uproar  that  would 
be  maddening  if  one  had  to  live  in  it;  but  it 
is  all  very  interesting  to  the  stranger,  and 
speaks  more  loudly  than  words  of  the  impor- 
tance of  the  great  industry  of  the  neighbour- 
hood. 

All  around  are  great  heaps  —  mountains  al- 
most—  of  broken,  splintered  marble;  the  de- 
bris merely  of  the  great  blocks  which  have,  in 
times  past,  been  quarried  and  sent  to  all  quar- 
ters of  the  earth. 

The  quarries  of  Carrara  have  been  worked 
ever  since  the  Roman  epoch,  and  the  tufted  hill- 
sides round  about  have  been  burrowed  to  their 
bowels  in  taking  out  this  untold  wealth  which, 
without  exaggeration,  has  been  as  great  as  that 
of  many  mines  of  gold. 

Quite  twenty  per  cent,  of  the  population  work 
at  the  industry,  and  five  hundred  men  are  actu- 
ally engaged  in  hewing  out  and  slicing  off  the 
great  blocks.  Ten  thousand,  at  least,  find  their 
livelihood  dependent  upon  the  industry,  and 
two  hundred  thousand  tons  is  a  normal  annual 


The  Riviera  di  Levante  119 

outi3ut;  in  price,  valued  at  from  150  to  1,500 
francs  the  cubic  metre. 

At  Massa  one  joins  the  main  road  again  run- 
ning south  by  the  shore.  One  never  hears  of 
the  conventional  tourist  stopping  at  Massa ;  but 
we  found  the  Hotel  Massa  and  its  dinner  in  the 
garden  worth  the  taking  and  agreed  that  the 
Chateau,  in  base  rococo  style,  (now  the  public 
administrative  buildings),  a  curiosity  worth  see- 
ing. Massa  has  a  Napoleonic  memory  hanging 
over  it,  too,  in  that  it  was  once  the  residence 
of  the  Little  Corporal's  sister.  Massa 's  Cas- 
tello,  high  above  all  else  in  the  town,  is  grim, 
lofty  and  spectacular  though  to  be  viewed  only 
from  without.  Massa  is  worth  making  a  note 
of,  even  by  the  hurried  traveller. 

Since  leaving  Sarzana  the  high  road  has  be- 
come worse  and  worse,  until  in  the  vicinity  of 
Carrara  and  Massa  it  is  almost  indescribably 
bad.  There  is  no  such  stretch  of  bad  road  in 
Europe  as  this  awful  fifty  kilometres,  for  it 
continues  all  the  way  to  Lucca  and  Livorno. 
The  vast  amount  of  traffic  drawn  by  ten  head 
of  oxen  at  a  time  is  what  does  it  of  course,  and 
as  there  is  no  way  around  one  has  to  go  through 
it,  though  it's  a  heart-breaking  job  to  one  that 
cares  anything  for  his  automobile. 

Pietrasanta,  eight  kilometres  farther  on,  was, 


120     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

for  us,  an  undiscovered  beauty  spot  and  his- 
toric shrine ;  at  least,  none  of  us  had  ever  heard 
of  it  till  we  passed  the  portals.  Now  we  know 
that  the  walls,  through  which  we  passed,  were 
the  same  that  the  blood-thirsty,  battling  Lo- 
renzo di  Medici  besieged  in  1482 ;  and  that  the 
ancient  bronze  font  in  the  Baptistery  was  the 
work  of  Donatello.  We  were  glad  that  Massa 
and  Pietrasanta  were  counted  in,  as  they  should 
be  by  everyone  passing  this  way,  even  though 
they  did  take  up  half  a  day's  time  —  all  on  ac- 
count of  the  awful  road  —  part  of  which  time, 
however,  you  are  eating  that  excellent  lunch  in 
the  garden  of  the  Hotel  Massa.  That  time  will 
not  be  lost  anyway,  one  must  eat  somewhere. 

Eight  kilometres  beyond  Massa  is  Viareggio, 
an  unlovely,  incipient  seaside  resort  for  dwell- 
ers in  the  Tuscan  towns;  but  a  historic  spot 
nevertheless,  and  interesting  from  that  view- 
point at  any  rate. 

Viareggio  has  no  villas  or  palaces  of  note, 
and  its  chief  associations  for  the  traveller  lie 
in  its  memories  of  Shelley  and  Ouida,  the  Mar- 
quise de  la  Ramee.  There  is  a  monument, 
erected  to  Shelley  in  1894,  commemorating  the 
fact  that  he  was  drowned  here,  in  the  Tyrrhe- 
nian Sea,  and  his  body  consumed  by  fire,  on  the 
shore. 


The  Riviera  di  Levante  121 

It  was  in  the  village  of  Massarosa,  near  Via- 
reggio,  that  that  much-abused  and  very  abusive 
old  lady,  Ouida,  the  Marquis  de  la  Ramee,  died 
in  January,  1908.  Since  1877  she  had  made 
Italy  her  home,  and  for  years  she  had  lived  here 
alone,  not  in  poverty  or  misery,  for  she  had 
a  ''  civil  pension  "  which  was  more  than  suffi- 
cient to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door.  She  died 
miserable  and  alone  however.  Ouida  was  a 
more  real,  more  charitable  person  than  she  was 
g^ven  credit  for  being.  She  didn't  like  the  Eng- 
lish, and  Americans  she  liked  still  less,  but  she 
loved  the  Italians.  Whose  business  was  it  then 
if  she  chose  to  live  among  them,  with  her  un- 
kempt and  unwholesome-looking  dogs  and  her 
slatternly  maid-of-all-work  ?  Ouida,  as  she  her- 
self said,  did  not  hate  humanity;  she  hated 
society;  and  she  had  more  courage  than  some 
of  the  rest  of  us  in  that  she  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with  it. 

The  vineyards  lying  back  of  Viareggio  may 
not  be  the  most  luxuriant  in  Italy,  but  they 
blossom  abundantly  enough. 

Lucca  is  thirty-five  kilometres  from  Via- 
reggio and  the  road  still  bad  —  on  to  Livorno, 
turning  to  the  right  instead  of  the  left  at  Via- 
reggio, it  is  worse. 

Lucca  has  a  right  to  its  claim  as  one  of  the 


122     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

most  ancient  cities  of  Tuscany,  for  it  is  one  of 
the  least  up-to-date  of  Italian  cities.  Wlien 
Florence  was  still  sunk  in  its  marsh  Lucca  was 
already  old,  and  filled  with  a  commercial  im- 


portance which  to-day  finds  its  echo  in  the  dis- 
tribution of  the  Lucca  olive  oil  of  trade  which 
one  may  buy  at  Vancouver,  Johannesburg  or 
Rio.  Indeed  the  label  on  the  bottle  of  olive  oil 
is  the  only  reminiscence  many  have  of  Lucca. 

The  decadence  came  to  Lucca  in  due  time 
and  it  degenerated  sadly,  about  its  last  mag- 


The  Riviera  di  Levante  123 

uificent  ray  being  that  shot  out  when  Napoleon 
gave  the  city  to  his  sister  Eliza  Bacciochi,  with 
the  title  of  Princess  of  Lucca.  She  was  a  real 
benefactress  to  the  country,  but  with  the  fall 
of  Napoleon  all  his  satellites  were  snuffed  out, 
too,  and  then  the  benign  influences  of  the  Prin- 
cess Eliza  were  forgotten  and  ignored. 

Southwest  from  Lucca,  with  Pisa  lying  be- 
tween, is  the  great  port  of  Leghorn,  whence  are 
shipped  the  marbles  of  Carrara,  the  oil  of 
Lucca,  the  wines  of  Chianti  and  the  Leghorn 
hats  and  braids  of  all  Tuscany.  These  four 
things  keep  Livorno  going. 

Leghorn  is  as  modern  as  Lucca  is  antiquated 
and  is  the  most  cosmopolitan  of  all  Italian 
cities. 

"When  Philip  III  expelled  the  Moors  from 
Spain  Cosmo  II,  Duke  of  Livorno,  invited  two 
thousand  of  them  to  come  to  his  Dukedom. 

Montesquieu  remarked  upon  this  conglomer- 
ate population,  and  approved  of  it  apparently, 
as  he  called  the  founding  and  populating  of  the 
city  the  master  work  of  the  Medici  dynasty. 


CHAPTER   VII 


ON    TUSCAN    ROADS 


The  valley  of  the  Arno,  as  the  river  flows 
through  the  heart  of  Tuscany  from  its  source 
high  in  the  hills  just  south  of  Monte  Falterona, 
is  the  most  romantic  region  in  all  Italy.  It  is 
the  borderland  between  the  south  and  the  north, 
and,  as  it  was  a  battle-ground  between  Cruelph 
and  Ghibellines,  so  too  is  it  the  coimnon  ground 
where  the  blood  of  the  northerner  and  south- 
erner mingles  to-day. 

As  great  rivers  go,  the  Arno  is  neither  grand 
nor  magnificent,  but,  though  its  proportions  are 
not  great,  its  banks  are  lined  with  historic  and 
artistic  ruins,  from  the  old  fortress  at  Marina 
di  Pisa  to  Poppi,  the  ancient  capital  of  the  Ca- 
sentino,  perched  so  quaintly  upon  its  river- 
washed  rock. 

Pisa,  Leghorn  and  Lucca  are  a  triumvirate 
of  Tuscan  towns  which  should  be  viewed  and 
considered  collectively.    One  should  not  be  in- 

124 


CHAPTER   VII 


ON    TtrSCAN    BOADS 


The  valley  of  the  Arno,  as  the  river  flows 
through  the  heart  of  Tuscany  from  its  source 
high  in  the  hil^^yj-us^  s^l^^p^^iff^^ffj^^ona, 
is  the  most  romantic  region  in  all  Italy.  It  is 
the  borderland  between  the  south  and  the  north, 
and,  as  it  was  a  battle-ground  between  Ouelph 
and  Ghibellines,  so  too  is  it  the  common  ground 
wliere  the  blood  of  the  northerner  and  south- 
erner miijgh-  f<>  l.tv. 

As  great  >,  the  Arno  is  neither  grand 

nor  magnificent,  but,  though  its  proportions  are 
not  great,  its  banks  are  lined  with  historic  and 
nrtijitic  ruins,  from  the  old  fortress  at  Marina 
di  T*i^a  to  Po]^pi,  the  ancient  capital  of  the  Ca- 
sei'tino.  perched  so  quaintly  upon  its  river- 
washed  rock. 

Vh\,  Legboni  and  Lucca  are  a  triumvirate 
of  Tuscan  towns  which  should  be  viewed  and 
considered  collectively.    One  should  not  be  in- 

124 


ON  A 

TUSCAN 

HIGHWAY 

^/<7/»e  fa  M*' Menus 


■■A^<md^jg 


On  Tuscan  Roads  125 

eluded  in  an  itinerary  without  the  others, 
though  indeed  they  have  little  in  common,  save 
the  memories  of  the  past. 

Pisa  is  another  of  these  dead  cities  of  Eu- 
rope, like  Bruges,  Leyden,  and  Rothenburg. 
Once  ardent  and  lively  in  every  activity  of  life, 
its  population  now  has  sunk  into  a  state  of  leth- 
argy. Industry  and  commerce,  and  the  men 
who  should  busy  themselves  therewith,  are  in 
the  background,  hidden  behind  a  barrier  of  bu- 
reaucracy. Pisa,  a  town  of  twenty-six  thousand 
inhabitants,  has  a  tribunal  of  nine  civil  judges, 
a  criminal  court  presided  over  by  sixty-three 
more,  and  a  ''  roll  "  of  more  than  half  a  hun- 
dred notaries.  Then  there  is  a  service  of  Do- 
mains, of  Registry  and  of  Public  Debt ;  besides 
an  array  of  functionaries  in  charge  of  semi- 
naries, orphan  asylums,  schools  and  colleges. 
All  these  belong  to  the  state. 

Pisa,  sitting  distant  and  proud  on  the  banks 
of  the  Arno,  enjoys  a  softer  climate  than  most 
of  the  coast  cities  or  interior  towns  of  central 
Italy.  The  Tyrrhenian  Sea  is  but  a  gulf  of  the 
Mediterranean,  but  just  where  it  bathes  the 
shore  about  the  mouth  of  the  Arno,  it  has  a 
higher  temperature  than  most  northern  Medi- 
terranean waters. 

Pisa  is  more  of  a  sanitarium  than  it  is  a  gay 


126     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

watering  place  however.  The  city  is,  in  fact, 
like  its  celebrated  leaning  tower,  half  tottering 
on  the  brink  of  its  grave.  Commerce  and  in- 
dustry are  far  from  active  and  its  streets  are 
half  deserted ;  many  of  them  are  literally  grass- 
grown  and  all  the  others  are  paved  with  great 
flat  clean-swept  flags,  a  delight  for  the  auto- 
mobilist,  whose  chief  experience  of  pavements 
has  been  in  France  and  Belgimn. 

The  entrance  to  Pisa  by  road  from  the  north 
is  one  of  the  most  pleasing  of  that  of  any  Ital- 
ian city.  For  the  last  half  dozen  kilometres  the 
road  steadily  improves  until  it  becomes  one  of 
the  best  as  it  circles  around  that  wonderful 
triumvirate  of  architectural  splendours,  the 
Duomo,  the  Baptistery  and  the  tottering  Torre. 
The  group  is  one  of  the  scenic  surprises  of 
Italy,  and  the  automobilist  has  decidedly  the 
best  opportunity  of  experiencing  the  emotions 
it  awakes,  for  he  does  not  have  to  come  out 
from  town  (for  the  monuments  are  some  ways 
from  the  centre)  to  see  it.  It  is  the  first  im- 
pression that  the  traveller  by  road  gets  of  Pisa 
and  of  its  architectural  wonders,  as  he  draws 
suddenly  upon  it  from  the  slough-like  road 
through  which  he  has  literally  ploughed  his  way 
for  many  kilometres.  And  it  is  an  impression 
he  will  never  forget. 


On  Tuscan  Roads  127 

All  along  the  banks  of  the  Arno,  as  it  flows 
through  Pisa,  are  dotted  here  and  there  pal- 
aces of  Renaissance  days.  One  is  now  a  de- 
pendence of  a  hotel;  another  has  been  appro- 
priated by  the  post  office;  others  are  turned 
into  banks  and  offices;  but  there  are  still  some 
as  well  ordered  and  livable  as  in  their  best  days. 

The  Palazzo  Agostini  on  the  Lung'  Arno,  its 
fagade  ornamented  with  terra  cotta  medallions, 
is  now  a  part  of  the  Hotel  Nettuno  which,  as 
well  as  any  other  of  Pisa's  hotels,  cares  for  the 
automobilist  in  a  satisfactory  manner.  Its  ga- 
rage accommodations  are  abominably  confined, 
and  to  get  in  and  out  one  takes  a  considerable 
risk  of  damaging  his  mud-guards,  otherwise 
they  are  satisfactory,  though  one  pays  two 
francs  a  night  for  them,  which  one  should  not 
be  obliged  to  do.  Here  is  another  point  where 
France  is  superior  to  Italy  as  an  automobile 
touring  ground. 

Pisa  and  its  palaces  are  a  delight  from  every 
point  of  view,  though  indeed  none  of  the  edi- 
fices are  very  grand,  or  even  luxurious.  They 
strike  a  middle  course  however,  and  are  indic- 
ative of  the  solid  comfort  and  content  in  which 
their  original  owners  must  have  lived  at  Pisa 
in  latter  Renaissance  times. 

Pisa's  Campo  Santo  is  the  most  famous  ex- 


128     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

ample  of  graveyard  design  and  building  in  all 
the  world.  It  is  calm  and  dignified,  but  stupen- 
dous and  startling  in  its  immensity. 

From  Pisa  to  Florence  by  road,  following  the 
valley  of  the  Arno,  one  passes  through  the  typ- 
ical Tuscan  countryside,  although  the  hill-coun- 
try lies  either  to  one  side  or  the  other.  It  is  the 
accessible  route  however,  and  the  one  usually 
claimed  by  the  local  garage  and  hotel  keepers  to 
be  one  of  the  best  of  Italian  roads.  It  is  and 
it  isn't;  it  all  depends  upon  the  time  of  the 
year,  the  fact  that  the  road  may  recently  have 
been  repaired  or  not,  and  the  state  of  the 
weather.  We  went  over  it  in  a  rain  which  had 
been  falling  steadily  for  three  days  and  found 
it  very  bad,  though  unquestionably  it  would 
have  been  much  more  comfortable  going  in  dry 
weather.  It  is  the  approved  route  between  the 
two  cities  however,  and  unless  one  is  going 
directly  down  the  coast  to  Rome,  via  Grosseto, 
Pisa  is  the  best  place  from  which  to  commence 
the  inland  detour. 

Cascina,  a  dozen  kilometres  away,  was  the 
scene  of  a  sanguinary  defeat  of  the  Pisans  by 
the  Florentines  on  the  feast  of  San  Vittorio 
in  1364,  and  each  year  the  event  is  celebrated 
by  the  inhabitants.  It  seems  singular  that  a 
people  should  seek  to  perpetuate  the  memory 


On  Tuscan  Roads  129 

of  a  defeat,  but  perhaps  the  original  inhabitants 
sympathized  with  Florence  rather  than  with 
Pisa. 

Pontedera  is  a  big  country  town  at  the  junc- 
ture of  the  Era  and  the  Arno.  It  has  no  monu- 
ments and  no  history  worth  remarking,  but  is 
indicative  of  the  prosperity  of  the  country 
round  about.  Pontedera  has  no  hotel  with 
garage  accommodations,  and  if  you  get  caught 
in  a  thunder  storm,  as  we  did,  you  will  have 
to  grin  and  bear  it  and  plug  along. 

San  Miniato  de  Tedeschi  rises  on  its  hill  top 
a  few  kilometres  farther  on  in  an  imposing 
manner.  It  is  the  most  conspicuous  thing  in  the 
landscape  for  a  wide  radius.  Francesco  Sforza 
was  born  here,  and  Frederic  II  made  it  the  seat 
of  the  Imperial  vicarage.  San  Miniato  is  a 
hill  town  of  the  very  first  rank,  and  like  others 
of  the  same  class  —  Fiesole,  Colle  and  Volterra 
—  (though  its  hill-top  site  may  have  nothing 
to  do  with  this)  it  had  the  privilege  of  confer- 
ring nobility  on  plebeians.  The  Grand  Duke  of 
Tuscany  in  the  nineteenth  century  accordingly 
made  *'  an  English  gentleman  of  Hebrew  extrac- 
tion "  —  so  history  reads  —  the  Marquis  of  San 
Miniato.  At  any  rate  it  was  probably  as  good 
a  title  as  is  usually  conferred  on  any  one,  and 
served  its  soi-disant  owner  well  enough  for  a 


130     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

crest  for  his  note  paper  or  automobile  door. 
One  wonders  what  the  gentleman  took  for  his 
motto.    History  does  not  say. 

Empoli  is  a  thriving  town,  engaged  princi- 
pally in  killing  fowls  and  sending  them  to  the 
Florence  market,  plaiting  straw  to  be  made  into 
hats,  and  covering  chianti  bottles  with  the  same 
material. 

The  Ghibellines  would  have  made  Empoli 
their  capital  in  1260,  after  their  meeting  or 
' '  parliament  ' '  here.  It  was  proposed  too,  that 
Florence  should  be  razed.  One  man  only,  Fari- 
nata  degli  Uberti,  opposed  it.  "  Never,"  said 
he, ' '  will  I  consent  that  our  beloved  city,  which 
our  enemies  have  spared,  shall  be  destroyed 
or  insulted  by  our  own  hands. ' ' 

The  old  palace  in  which  the  Ghibelline  parlia- 
ment met  still  stands  on  the  Piazza  del  Mercato. 

No  automobilist  who  ''  happens  "  on  Empoli 
will  ever  want  to  see  it  again,  on  account  of  the 
indignities  which  will  be  heaped  on  his  auto- 
mobile, though  the  Albergo  Guippone,  run  by 
a  mother  and  son  in  most  competent,  but  aston- 
ishing, fashion,  is  the  real  thing.  The  food  and 
cooking  are  extraordinarily  good,  and  the  house 
itself  new  and  cleanly.  You  eat  at  a  big  round 
table,  with  a  great  long-necked  bottle  of  chianti 
swung  on  a  balance  in  the  centre.    It  must  hold 


On  Tuscan  Roads  131 

at  least  two  gallons,  and,  without  the  well-sweep 
arrangement  for  pouring  out  its  contents,  you 
would  go  dry.  The  wine  served  is  as  good  as 
the  rest  of  the  fare  offered.  The  fault  with 
Empoli's  hotel  is  that  there  is  no  garage  and 
the  proprietors  recommend  no  one  as  competent 
to  house  your  automobile,  saying  you  can  take 
your  choice  of  any  one  of  a  half  a  dozen  renters 
of  stallagio  near  by.  They  are  all  bad  doubt- 
less; but  the  one  we  tried,  who  permitted  us 
to  put  the  automobile  in  an  uncovered  dirty 
hole  with  horses,  donkeys  and  pigs,  took  —  yes, 
took,  that 's  the  word  —  two  lire  for  the  service ! 
If  you  do  go  to  Empoli  keep  away  from  this 
ignorant,  unprogressive  individual. 

North  of  Empoli,  on  the  direct  road  from 
Lucca  to  Florence,  are  Pistoja  and  Prato. 

Pistoja  is  one  of  the  daintiest  of  Tuscan  cit- 
ies, but  not  many  of  the  habitues  of  Florence 
know  it,  at  least  not  as  they  know  Pisa  or 
Siena. 

Its  past  is  closely  intermingled  with  Floren- 
tine and  Italian  history,  and  indeed  has  been 
most  interesting.  Practically  it  is  a  little  moun- 
tain city,  though  lying  quite  at  the  base  of  the 
Apennines,  just  before  they  flatten  out  into  the 
seashore  plain.  Its  country  people,  in  town  for 
a  market-day,  are  chiefly  people  of  the  hills, 


132     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

shepherds  and  the  like,  but  their  speech  is  Tus- 
can, the  purest  speech  of  Italy,  the  nearest  that 
is  left  us  to  the  speech  of  Boccaccio 's  day. 

Pistoja's  old  walls  and  ramparts  are  not  the 
least  of  its  crumbling  glories.  They  are  a  relic 
of  the  Medicis  and  the  arms  and  crests  of  this 
family  are  still  seen  carved  over  several  of  the 
entrance  gates.  One  has  only  to  glance  upward 
as  he  drives  his  automobile  noisily  through 
some  mediaeval  gateway  to  have  memories  of 
the  days  when  cavalcades  of  lords  and  ladies 
passed  over  the  same  road  on  horseback  or  in 
state  coaches. 

All  is  primitive  and  unworldly  at  Pistoja,  but 
there  is  no  ruinous  decay,  though  here  and 
there  a  transformed  or  rebuilt  palace  has  been 
turned  into  some  institution  or  even  a  work- 
shop. 

Prato,  a  near  neighbour  of  Pistoja  on  the 
road  to  Florence,  is  also  a  fine  relic  of  an  old 
walled  Tuscan  town.  Aside  from  this  its  sp^ 
cialty  is  churches,  which  are  numerous,  curious 
and  beautiful,  but  except  for  the  opportunity 
for  viewing  them  the  lover  of  the  romantic  and 
picturesque  will  not  want  to  linger  long  within 
the  city. 

Between  Empoli  and  Florence  is  seen  at  a 
distance  the  Villa  Ambrogiana ;   a  transf orma- 


On  Tuscan  Roads  133 

tion  by  Ferdinand  I  of  an  old  castle  of  the 
Ardinghelli ;  its  towers  and  pinnacles  still  well 
preserved,  but  the  whole  forming  a  hybrid,  un- 
couth structure. 

Further  on  at  Montelupo  there  is  a  castle, 
now  in  ruins,  built  and  fortified  by  the  Floren- 
tines in  1203.  It  owes  its  name,  Montelupo,  to 
the  adoption  of  the  word  lupo,  wolf,  by  the  Flor- 
entines when  they  sought  to  destroy  a  neigh- 
bouring elan  called  the  Capraja  {capra,  goat). 

Signa  is  reached  after  crossing  the  Arno  for 
the  first  time.  The  city  walls,  towers  and  pin- 
nacles, with  their  battlements  and  machicola- 
tions, are  still  as  they  were  when  the  Floren- 
tines caused  them  to  be  erected  to  guard  the 
high  road  leading  to  their  city. 

Suburban  sights,  in  the  shape  of  modern 
villas,  market  gardens  and  what  not,  announce 
the  approach  to  Florence,  which  is  entered  by 
a  broad  straight  road,  the  Strada  Pisana,  run- 
ning beneath  the  Porta  S.  Frediano.  Instinct- 
ively one  asks  for  the  Lung'  Arno  that  he  may 
get  his  bearings,  and  then  straightway  makes 
for  his  hotel  or  pension. 

Hotels  for  the  automobilist  in  Florence  are 
numerous.  The  Automobile  Club  de  France 
vouches  for  the  Palace  Hotel,  where  you  pay 
two  francs  and  a  half  for  garage,  and  for  the 


134     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 


On  Tuscan  Eoads  135 

Grand  Hotel  de  la  Ville  with  no  garage.  The 
writer  prefers  the  Hotel  Helvetia,  or  better  yet 
the  Hotel  Porta  Rossa,  a  genuine  Italian  al- 
hergo,  patronized  only  by  such  strangers  as 
come  upon  it  unawares*  It  is  very  good,  reason- 
able in  price,  and  you  may  put  your  automobile 
in  the  remissa,  which  houses  the  hotel  omnibus, 
for  a  franc  a  night.  It  is  convenient  to  have 
your  automobile  close  at  hand  instead  of  at 
the  F.  I.  A.  T.  garage  a  mile  or  more  away,  and 
the  hotel  itself  is  most  central,  directly  to  the 
rear  of  the  Strozzi  Palace. 

"  AVhat  sort  of  city  is  this  Florence?  " 
asked  Boniface  VIII,  amazed  at  the  splendour 
of  the  Florentine  procession  sent  to  Rome  to 
honour  his  jubilee.  No  one  was  found  ready 
with  an  answer,  but  at  last  a  Cardinal  timidly 
remarked,  ''  Your  Holiness,  the  City  of  Flor- 
ence is  a  good  city."  "  Nonsense,"  replied  the 
Pope,  ''  she  is  far  away  the  greatest  of  all 
cities!  She  feeds,  clothes  and  governs  us  all. 
.  .  .  She  and  her  people  are  the  fifth  element  of 
the  universe." 

One  comes  to  Florence  for  pictures  and  pal- 
aces, and,  for  as  long  or  short  a  time  as  fancy 
suggests,  the  automobile  and  the  chauffeur,  if 
you  have  one,  take  a  needed  repose.  Your 
automobile  safely  housed,  your  chauffeur  will 


136     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 


most   likely  be   found,   when   wanted,    at   the 
Reininghaus  on  the  Piazza  Vittorio-Emanuel 

drinking  German  beer 
0^^  <^^  and   reading   ' '  Puck  ' ' 
or        ' '  Judge  ' '        or 
"Punch"      or      "  Le 
Eire."      This    is    a 
cafe     with     more 


rx 


TORCH- HOLDERS 
^I-AZZO 
^.W^    STROZZl 

^08 


foreign  papers,  one  thinks,  than  any  other  on 
earth. 

Down   through   the  heart   of   Tuscany,   and 


Palazzo     Vecchio,     Florence 


On  Tuscan  Roads 


137 


through  the' 
Chianti  district, 
runs  the  highroad 
from  Florence  to 
Kome,  via  Siena. 
It  is  a  delightful 
itinerary,  whether 
made  by  road  or 
rail,  and,  whether 
one's  motive  is  the 
admiration  and 
contemplation  of 
art  or  architec- 
ture, or  the  sam- 
pling  of  the 
chianti,  en  route, 
the  journey 
through  the  Tus- 
can Apennines  will 
ever  remain  as  a 
most  fragrant 
memory.  It  is  a 
lovely  country  of 
vineyards  and 
wheatfields,  inter- 
mingled, and,  here 
and  there,  clumps 
of  mulberry  trees, 


«     LANT£RW 
r '       STROZ2T 


138     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

and  always  great  yoked  oxen  and  contadini 
working,  walking  or  sleeping. 

These,  indeed,  are  the  general  characteristics 
of  all  the  countryside  of  central  Italy,  but  here 
they  are  superlatively  idyllic.  The  simple  life 
must  be  very  nearly  at  its  best  here,  for  the 
almost  unalterable  fare  of  bread  and  cheese 
and  wine,  which  the  peasants,  by  the  roadside, 
seem  always  to  be  munching  and  drinking,  is 
not  conducive  to  grossness  of  thought  or  action. 

From  Florence  to  Rome  there  are  three  prin- 
cipal roads  favoured  by  automobilists :  that  via 
Siena  and  Grosseto,  332  kilometres ;  via  Siena, 
Orvieto  and  Viterbo,  325  kilometres;  and  via 
Arezzo,  Perugia  and  Terni,  308  kilometres. 
They  are  all  equally  interesting,  but  the  latter 
two  are  hilly  throughout  and  the  former,  in 
rainy  weather,  is  apt  to  be  bad  as  to  surface. 

The  towers  of  Tuscany  might  well  be  made 
the  interesting  subject  of  an  entire  book.  Some 
of  them,  existing  to-day,  date  from  the  Etrus- 
cans, many  centuries  before  Christ,  and  Diony- 
sius  wrote  that  the  Etruscans  were  called 
Tyrrhene  or  Turreno  because  they  inhabited 
towers,  or  strong  places  —  Typeie. 

In  the  twelfth  century,  local  laws,  throughout 
Tuscany,  reduced  all  towers  to  a  height  of 
fifty  hraccia.    Pisa,  Siena  and  Florence  in  the 


San     Gimignano 


On  Tuscan  Roads  139 

past  had  several  hundred  towers,  but  Volterra 
and  San  Gimignano  in  the  Val  d'Elsa  are  the 
only  remarkable  collections  still  grouped  after 
the  original  manner.  "  San  Gimignano  delle 
belle  Torri  "  is  a  classic  phrase  and  has  in- 
spired many  chapters  in  books  and  many  maga- 
zine articles. 

Massimo  d'Azeglio,  whose  opinions  most  peo- 
ple who  write  books  on  Italy  exploit  as  their 
own,  said,  with  reason,  that  San  Gimignano  was 
as  extraordinary  a  relic  of  the  past  as  Pom- 
peii. Of  all  the  fifty  odd  towers  of  the  city, 
none  is  more  imposing  than  that  of  the  Palazzo 
Publico,  rising  up  above  the  very  apartment, 
where,  in  the  thirteenth  century,  Dante  was 
received  when  he  was  sent  from  Florence  to 
parley  with  the  Guelphs  of  San  Gimignano. 

San  Gimignano 's  Palazzo  del  Commune  dates 
from  1298,  but  its  tower  was  an  afterthought, 
built  a  century  later.  This  tower  of  the  Pa- 
lazzo del  Commune  is,  perhaps,  the  best  pre- 
served of  all  the  "  belle  torri  "  of  the  city. 

San  Gimignano  and  Volterra  are  much  alike, 
though  the  latter 's  strong  point  lies  more  in 
its  fortification  walls.  Volterra  and  its  Etrus- 
can lore  and  pottery  have  ever  been  a  source  of 
pride  among  Italian  antiquarians.  The  Etrus- 
cans of  old  must  have  been  passionately  fond 


140     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 


of  pottery,  for,  so  plentifully  were  the  environs 
of  Volterra  strewn  with  broken  pitchers,  that 
one  suspects  that  each  square  yard  must  have 
contained  a  well.  Some  one  called  the  Etrus- 
cans lunatics,  who  were  shut  up  in  Volterra  and 


■  (  SiruJCfin  JYecropolij 


Port*. 


allowed  to  pursue  their  craze  for  pottery  in 
peace;  but  they  were  harmless  lunatics,  who 
devoted  themselves  to  the  arts  of  peace,  rather 
than  those  of  war.  The  alabaster  bric-a-brac 
trade  and  traffic  still  exists,  and  provides  a  live- 
lihood for  a  large  part  of  the  population  of  the 
city;  but  thousands  of  Tuscans,  many  of  them 
from  Volterra,  doubtless,  have  deserted  their 


On  Tuscan  Roads  141 

former  arts  for  the  pleasure  of  dragging  a  hand 
organ  from  street  to  street,  in  London  and  New 
York,  and  gathering  soldi  by  ministering  to  the 
pleasures  of  the  populace.  It  is  easy  for  the 
superior  person  to  sneer  at  the  hand  organ,  as 
he  sneers,  by  the  way,  at  the  phonograph  and 
the  pianola,  but  dull  alleys  and  mean  streets  are 
brightened  by  the  music  of  the  itinerant  Italian. 

*'  It  is  a  vision  of  the  moyen-age,''  wrote 
Paul  Bourget  when  he  first  saw  Volterra's 
Etruscan  walls.  High  up  on  its  rocky  plateau 
sits  Volterra,  protected  by  its  walls  and  gorges 
and  ravines,  in  almost  impregnable  fashion. 

•With  this  incentive  no  automobilist  north  or 
southbound  should  omit  San  Gimignano  or  Vol- 
terra from  his  itinerary.  They  are  but  a  few 
kilometres  off  the  main  road,  from  Poggibonzi 
via  Val  d'Elsa  between  Siena  and  Florence. 

On  a  height  overlooking  Volterra,  just  over 
the  Romitorio,  and  almost  within  sight  of  San 
Gimignano 's  towers,  Campanello,  the  cele- 
brated brigand,  was  captured,  a  quarter  of  a 
century  ago.  He  had  quartered  himself  upon 
an  unsuspecting,  though  unwilling,  peasant,  as 
was  the  fashion  with  brigands  of  the  time,  and, 
through  a  *'  faux  pas,"  offended  a  youth  who 
was  in  love  with  one  of  his  host's  daughters. 
This  was  his  undoing.    The  youth  informed  the 


142     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

local  authorities;  and  Campanello  led  away 
himself  by  the  blind  passion  of  love,  fell  pre- 
cipitately into  the  trap  which  the  injured  youth 
had  helped  to  set. 

Thus  ended  another  brigand's  tale,  which  in 
these  days  are  growing  fewer  and  fewer.  One 
has  to  go  to  Corsica  or  Sardinia  to  experience 
the  sensation  of  being  held  up,  or  to  the  Paris 
boulevards  where  apaches  still  reign,  or  to  the 
east  end  of  London. 

Going  south  from  Florence  by  this  road  the 
automobilist  has  simply  to  ask  his  way  via  the 
"  Strada  per  Siena;  "  after  Siena  it  is  the 
"  Strada  per  Roma;  "  and  so  on  from  one  great 
town  to  another.  In  finding  one's  way  out  of 
town  the  plan  is  simple,  easily  remembered  and 
efficient;  there  are  no  false  and  confusing  di- 
rections such  as  one  frequently  gets  in  France. 
You  are  either  on  the  Via  This  or  That  which 
ultimately  leads  to  the  Strada  of  the  same 
name,  or  you  are  not.  Start  right  and  you  can't 
miss  the  road  in  Italy. 

Among  all  the  secondary  cities  of  Italy,  none 
equals  Siena  in  romantic  appeal.  Its  site  is 
most  picturesque,  its  climate  is  salubrious,  and 
it  has  an  entirely  mediaeval  stamp  so  far  as  the 
arrangement  of  its  palaces  is  concerned.  Siena 
possesses  something  unique  in  church  architec- 


On  Tuscan  Roads  143 

ture,  as  might  be  expected  of  a  city  which  once 
contained  sixty  places  of  worship,  a  special 
patois,  and  women  of  surpassing  beauty.  More 
than  by  anything  else,  Siena  is  brought  to  mind 
by  the  recollection  of  that  Saint  Catherine,  who, 
according  to  Pope  Pius  II,  made  all  who  ap- 
proached her  better  for  her  presence. 

The  railway  and  its  appurtenances,  automo- 
biles and  their  belongings,  the  electric  light  and 
the  telegraph,  are  almost  the  only  signs  of 
modernity  in  Siena  to-day.  The  rest  is  of  the 
middle  ages,  and  the  chief  characters  who  stand 
out  to-day  are  not  the  political  personages  of 
our  time;  but  Bianca  Capello  and  Marie  de 
Medici  and  Charles  V,  who  of  all  other  aliens 
is  best  remembered  of  Siena,  because  of  the 
Holbein  reproduction  of  his  face  and  figure 
which  he  presented  to  its  citizens. 


CHAPTEE   VIII 

FLOKENTINE   BACKGROUNDS 

The  hills  and  valleys  around  Florence  offer 
delightful  promenades  by  road  to  the  automo- 
bilist  as  well  as  to  those  who  have  not  the  means 
at  hand  of  going  so  far  afield.  A  commercial 
enterprise  is  exploiting  them  by  means  of  a 
great  char-a-banc,  or  "  sightseeing  "  automo- 
bile, which  detracts  from  the  sentiments  and 
emotions  which  might  otherwise  be  evoked,  and 
at  the  same  time  annoys  the  driver  of  a  private 
automobile,  for  the  reason  that  this  public  con- 
veyance often  crowds  him  on  a  narrow  road 
and  prevents  his  passing.  However,  this  is  bet- 
ter than  being  obstructed,  as  in  former  days, 
by  a  string  of  forty  lazy  cabs  and  their  drivers. 

The  round  to  Fiesole,  San  Miniato,  Vallom- 
brosa,  and  on  through  the  Casentino  of  roman- 
tic memory  is  delightful  and  may  be  made  in 
a  day  or  a  week,  as  one's  fancy  dictates. 

The  new  road  from  Florence  to  Fiesole,  that 
is  the  road  made  in  the  mid-nineteenth  century, 

144 


Florentine  Backgrounds  145 

was  not  a  piece  of  jobbery  or  graft,  but  was 
paid  for  by  patents  of  nobility  given  by  tiie 
municipality  of  Fiesole  to  those  who  furnished 
the  means.  This  was  in  the  days  when  a  Grand 
Duke  ruled  Tuscany  and  monarchical  institu- 
tions found  favour. 

Fiesole  had  its  Libro  d'Oro,  and  inscribed 
thereon  as  noble  any  individual  who  would  pay 
the  required  price.  From  fifteen  hundred  lire 
upward  was  the  price  for  which  marquises, 
counts  and  barons  were  created  in  Florence's 
patrician  suburb. 

Coming  out  from  Florence  by  another  gate- 
way, through  the  Porta  San  Gallo,  runs  the 
Fiesole  highway.  A  landmark,  which  can  be 
readily  pointed  out  by  anyone,  is  the  villa  once 
possessed  by  Walter  Savage  Landor  and  in- 
habited by  him  for  nearly  thirty  years.  Here 
the  famous  men  of  letters  of  the  middle  years 
of  the  last  century  visited  him.  Here  he  rev- 
elled amid  memories  of  Boccaccio  and  wrote 
the  Pentameron.  There  is  talk  of  buying  the 
place  and  consecrating  it  to  his  memory. 

All  the  way  from  Florence  to  Fiesole  the 
roads  are  lined  with  typical  Florentine  villas 
and  country  houses.  The  Villa  at  Poggio  Ca- 
jano  was  built  by  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent, 
who  employed  Giuliano  da  San  Gallo  as  his 


146     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

architect.  In  1587  Francesco  I  died  within  its 
walls,  and  the  profligate  Bianca  Capello,  whose 
history  had  best  stay  buried,  also  died  here  on 
the  following  day.  Their  brother  Ferdinand 
was  responsible  for  their  taking  off,  as  they 
had  already  prepared  to  put  him  out  of  the 
way  by  the  administration  of  a  dose  of  poison. 
He  stood  over  them,  with  dagger  drawn,  and 
made  them  eat  their  own  poisoned  viands. 

The  Villa  Petraja  was  a  strong-hold  of  the 
Brunelleschi  family  which  defended  itself  ably 
against  the  Pisans  and  the  marauders  of  Sir 
John  Hawkwood  in  1364,  when  that  rollicking 
rascal  sold  his  services  to  the  enemies  of  Flor- 
ence. The  old  tower  of  the  castle,  as  it  then 
was,  still  remains,  but  the  major  portion  of  the 
present  structure  dates  from  quite  modern 
times. 

The  Villa  Medici  in  Careggi  was  built  by 
Cosimo  Pater  from  the  designs  of  Michelozzi, 
and  though  no  longer  royal  it  is  to-day  prac- 
tically unchanged  in  general  outline.  It,  too, 
was  one  of  the  favourite  residences  of  Lorenzo 
the  Magnificent,  and  the  conclaves  of  the  fa- 
mous Platonic  Academy  were  held  here  on  the 
seventh  of  November,  the  anniversary  of  the 
date  of  the  birth  and  death  of  Plato.  Here 
died  both  Cosimo  and  Lorenzo,  the  latter  on 


Florentine  Backgrounds  147 

the  eighth  of  April,  1492,  just  after  his  cele- 
brated interview  with  Savonarola.  The  Orsi 
family  came  into  possession  of  the  villa  later 
on,  then  "  an  English  gentleman  "  and  then  a 
certain  Signor  Segre. 

Between  Careggi  and  Fiesole,  and  on  towards 
Vallombrosa,  the  villas  and  palatial  country 
houses  of  the  Florentines  are  scattered  as 
thickly  as  the  leaves  of  the  famous  vale  itself. 

The  Villa  Salviati  is  a  fine  sixteenth  century 
work  with  a  blood-red  memory  of  the  middle 
ages,  at  one  time  the  property  of  the  singer 
Mario,  remembered  by  a  former  generation. 
The  Villa  Rinuccini  has  its  grounds  laid  out  in 
the  style  of  an  English  formal  garden,  and  the 
Villa  Guadagni  was  once  the  home  of  the  his- 
torian, Bartolommeo  della  Scala. 

Of  all  the  Florentine  suburban  villas  none 
has  a  tithe  of  the  popular  romantic  interest 
possessed  by  the  Villa  Palmieri.  The  Villa 
Palmieri  is  best  seen  from  its  approach  by  the 
highroad,  up  hill,  from  Florence.  At  the  right 
of  the  iron  gate,  the  cancello,  runs  the  old  road 
to  Fiesole.  Upward  still  the  road  runs,  through 
the  cancello,  through  a  wind-break  of  trees  and 
around  to  the  north  fagade  by  which  one  enters. 
The  entire  south  side  of  the  house  is  in  the 
form  of  a  loggia,  with  a  great  wide  terrace  in 


148     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

front,  below  which  is  the  sloping  garden  with 
its  palm  trees  and  azaleas. 

The  Villa  Palmieri  and  its  gardens  are  some- 
what the  worse  for  stress  of  time;  and  the 
wind  and  the  hot  sun  have  burned  up  the  shrubs 
and   trees    since    the   days   when   Zocchi   the 


VILLA   PALMIERI 


draughtsman  made  that  series  of  formal  draw- 
ings of  Italian  gardens,  that  of  the  Villa  Pal- 
mieri among  the  number,  which  are  so  useful 
to  the  compilers  of  books  on  Italian  villas  and 
gardens. 

Fiesole  sits  proudly  on  its  height  a  thousand 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  The  following 
anonymous  lines  —  ''newspaper  verse"  they 
may  be  contemptuously  described  by  some  — 


Florentine  Backgrounds  149 

make  as  admirable  a  pen  picture  of  the  little 
town  as  it  were  possible  to  reproduce. 

"  A  little  town  on  a  far  off  hill  — 

(Fiesole,  Fiesole!) 
Mossy  walls  that  defy  Time's  will, 
Olive  groves  in  the  sun  a-thrill 
Thickets  of  roses  where  thrushes  trill 
Winds  that  quiver  and  then  are  still  — 

Fiesole,  Fiesole!  " 

Fiesole  forms  an  irregular  ground  plan,  ri- 
sing and  falling  on  the  unequal  ground  upon 
which  it  is  built.  The  long  and  almost  unbroken 
line  of  Cyclopean  walls  towards  the  north  is 
the  portion  which  has  suffered  least  from  time 
or  violence.  The  huge  stones  of  which  the 
Etruscan  wall  is  composed  are  somewhat  irreg- 
ular in  shape  and  unequal  in  size,  seldom  as- 
suming a  polygonal  form.  This  Cyclopean  con- 
struction varies  with  the  geological  nature  of 
the  rock  employed.  In  all  the  Etruscan  and 
Pelasgic  towns  it  is  found-  that,  when  sandstone 
was  used,  the  form  of  the  stones  has  been  that 
of  the  parallelopipedon  or  nearly  so,  as  at  Fie- 
sole and  Cortona ;  whereas,  when  limestone  was 
the  subjacent  rock,  the  polygonal  construction 
alone  is  found,  as  at  Cosa  and  Segni.  This 
same  observation  will  be  found  to  apply  to 
every  part  of  the  world,  and  in  a  marked  degree 


150     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 


l^^^Z 


^EBj^ 


_       ■  TIE-SOLE 


Florentine  Backgrounds  151 

to  the  CycloiDean  constructions  of  Greece  and 
Asia  Minor,  and  even  to  the  far-distant  edifices 
raised  by  the  Peruvian  Incas.  Sometimes  the 
pieces  of  rock  are  dovetailed  into  each  other; 
others  stand  joint  above  joint;  but,  however 
placed,  the  face,  or  outward  front,  is  perfectly 
smooth.  No  projection,  or  work  advancing  be- 
yond the  line  of  the  wall,  appears  in  the  remains 
of  the  original  structure, 

Fiesole  is  a  built-up  fabric  in  all  its  parts; 
its  foundation  is  architecture,  and  its  churches, 
palaces  and  villas  are  mere  protuberances  ex- 
tending out  from  a  concrete  whole.  Fiesole  is 
one  of  the  most  remarkably  built  towns  above 
ground. 

Fiesole 's  great  charm  lies  in  its  surrounding 
and  ingredient  elements;  in  the  palaces  and 
villas  of  the  hilltops  always  in  plain  view,  and 
in  its  massive  construction  of  walls,  rather  than 
in  its  specific  monuments,  though  indeed  its 
Duomo  possesses  a  crudity  and  rudeness  of  con- 
structive and  decorative  elements  wliich  marks 
it  as  a  distinct,  if  barbarous,  Romanesque  style. 

The  views  from  Fiesole 's  height  are  pecul- 
iarly fine.  On  the  north  is  the  valley  of 
the  Mugello,  and  just  below  is  the  Villa  of 
Scipione  Ammirato,  the  Florentine  historian. 
Towards   the   south,   the   view  commands   the 


152     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

central  Val  d'Arno,  from  its  eastern  extremity 
to  the  gorge  of  the  Gonfolina,  by  wliicli  it  com- 
municates with  the  Val  d'Amo  di  Sotto,  with 
Florence  as  the  main  object  in  the  rich  land- 
scape below. 

The  following  is  a  mediaeval  point  of  view  as 
conceived  by  a  Renaissance  historian.  He 
wrote  it  of  Lorenzo  the  Magnificent,  but  the 
emotions  it  describes  may  as  well  become  the 
possession  of  plebeian  travellers  of  to-day. 

"  Lorenzo  ever  retained  a  predilection  for 
his  country  house  just  below  Fiesole,  and  the 
terrace  still  remains  which  was  his  favourite 
walk.  Pleasant  gardens  and  walks  bordered  by 
cypresses  add  to  the  beauty  of  the  spot,  from 
which  a  splendid  view  of  Florence  encircled  by 
its  amphitheatre  of  mountains  is  obtained." 

*^  In  a  villa  overhanging  the  towers  of  Flor- 
ence, on  the  steep  slopes  of  that  lofty  hill 
crowned  by  the  mother  city,  the  ancient  Fiesole, 
in  gardens  which  Tully  might  have  envied,  with 
Ficino,  Landino,  and  Politian  at  his  side,  he 
delighted  his  hours  of  leisure  with  the  beautiful 
visions  of  Platonic  philosophy,  for  which  the 
sunmaer  stillness  of  an  Italian  sky  appears  the 
most  congenial  accompaniment." 

This  is  the  twentieth  century,  but  those  of 
mood  and  mind  may  experience  the  same  as  did 


Florentine  Backgrounds  153 

Lorenzo  di  Medici  four  hundred  years  ago. 
The  hills  and  vales,  the  Arno  and  the  City  of 
the  Lily,  with  its  domes  and  towers,  have  little 
changed  during  the  many  passing  years. 

Out  from  Florence  by  the  Porta  alia  Croce 
runs  the  road  to  Vallombrosa,  which  may  be 
reached  also  from  Fiesole  without  entering 
Florence  by  taking  the  road  leading  over  the 
Ponte  a  Mensola.  Just  beyond  Pontassieve, 
some  twenty  kilometres  distant,  the  road  to 
Vallombrosa  leaves  the  Arezzo  highway  and 
plunges  boldly  into  the  heart  of  the  Apennines. 

Of  Vallombrosa  Lamartine  said:  "  Abbey 
monumental,  the  Grande  Chartreuse  of  Italy 
built  on  the  summit  of  the  Apennines  behind  a 
rocky  rampart,  protected  by  precipices  at  every 
turn,  by  torrents  of  rushing  water  and  by  dark, 
dank  forests  of  fir-pines."  The  description  is 
good  to-day,  and,  while  the  ways  of  access  are 
many,  including  even  a  fiiniculaire  from  Pon- 
tassieve to  Vallombrosa,  to  approach  the 
sainted  pile  in  the  true  and  reverend  spirit  of 
the  pilgrim  one  should  make  his  way  by  the 
winding  mountain  road  —  even  if  he  has  to 
walk.  Indeed,  walking  is  the  way  to  do  it ;  the 
horses  hereabouts  are  more  inert  than  vigor- 
ous ;  they  mislead  one ;  they  start  out  bravely, 
but,  if  they  don 't  fall  by  the  wayside,  they  come 


154     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

home  limping.  But  for  tlie  fact  that  the  road 
uphill  to  Vallombrosa  is  none  too  good  as  to 
surface  and  the  turns  are  many  and  sharp,  it 
is  accessible  enough  by  automobile. 

Various  granges,  hermitages  and  convent 
walls  are  passed  en  route.  At  Sant'  Ellero  was 
a  Benedictine  nunnery  belonging  to  the  monks 
of  Vallombrosa  in  the  thirteenth  century,  and 
in  its  donjon  tower  —  a  queer  adjunct  for  a 
nunnery  by  the  way  —  a  band  of  fleeing  Ghi- 
bellines  were  besieged  by  a  horde  of  Guelphs  in 
1267. 

Domini  and  Saltino  mark  various  stages  in 
the  ascent  from  the  valley.  Up  to  this  latter 
point  indeed  one  may  come  by  the  funiculaire, 
but  that  is  not  the  true  pilgrim  way. 

Up  to  within  a  couple  of  kilometres  of  the 
summit  chestnuts,  oaks,  and  beech  are  seen, 
justifying  Milton's  simile,  the  accuracy  of 
which  has  been  called  in  question  on  the  ground 
that  the  forest  consisted  entirely  of  fir. 

"  Thick  as  autumnal  leaves  that  strew  the  brooks 
In  Vallombrosa,  where  the  Etrurian  shades, 
High  overarch'd,  embower," 

Four  miles  beyond  Paterno,  after  passing 
through  a  fine  forest  of  pines,  the  traveller  ar- 
rives at  the  Santuario  of  Vallombrosa: 


Florentine  Backgrounds  155 

"  Cosi  fu  nominata  una  badia, 
Ricca  e  bella  ne  men  religiosa 
E  cortese  a  chiunque  vi  venia." 

—  Orl.  Fur.  can.  22,  st.  36. 

Among  the  remarkable  men  who  have  been 
monks  of  Vallombrosa,  was  Guido  Aretino,  who 
was  a  member  of  this  house  when  he  first  be- 
came known  as  a  writer  upon  music  (about  a.  d. 
1020).  After  having  visited  Rome  twice,  upon 
the  invitation  of  two  succeeding  popes,  he  was 
prevailed  upon  by  the  abbot  of  a  monastery  at 
Ferrara  to  settle  there.  Some  writers  have 
ascribed  to  this  Guido  the  invention  of  counter- 
point, which  is  scarcely  less  absurd  than  ascrib- 
ing the  invention  of  a  language  to  any  indi- 
vidual. However,  it  is  pretty  certain  that  he 
was  the  first  person  to  use,  or  to  recommend 
the  use  of  "  lines  "  and  '^  spaces  "  for  musical 
notation. 

High  above  the  convent  of  Vallombrosa  itself 
rises  II  Paradisino  (1,036  metres)  with  a  small 
hermitage,  while  Monte  Secehieta  is  higher  still, 
1,447  metres.  Vallombrosa,  its  convent  and  its 
hermitages  are  in  the  midst  of  solitude,  as 
indeed  a  retreat,  pious  or  otherwise,  should  be. 
If  only  some  of  us  who  are  more  worldly  than 
a  monk  would  go  into  a  retreat  occasionally 


156     Italian  Highways  and  Bjrways 

and    conmiune    with   solitude   awhile,    what   a 
clarifying  of  ideas  one  would  experience! 

Back  of  Vallombrosa  and  the  Paradisino  the 
upper  valley  of  the  Arno  circles  around  through 
Arezzo,  Bibbiena  and  Poppi  and  rises  just 
under  the  brow  of  Monte  Falterona  which,  in 
its  very  uppermost  reaches,  forms  a  part  of  the 
Casentino. 

From  Pontassieve  where  one  branches  off  for 
Vallombrosa  one  may  descend  on  Arezzo  either 
by  Poppi-Bibbiena  or  Montevarchi,  say  seventy 
kilometres  either  way. 

The  Casentino  and  the  Valley  of  the  Arno 
form  one  of  the  most  romantically  unspoiled 
tracts  in  Italy,  although  modern  civilization  is 
crowding  in  on  all  sides.  The  memories  of 
Saint  Francis,  La  Verna,  Saint  Romuald  the 
Camaldoli  and  Dante  and  the  great  array  of 
Renaissance  splendours  of  its  towns  and  vil- 
lages, will  live  for  ever. 

Here  took  place  some  of  the  severest  conflicts 
in  the  civil  wars  of  the  Gruelphs  and  Ghibellines, 
and  in  numerous  ruins  of  castles  and  hill-forts 
are  retained  memorials  of  the  many  struggles. 

Just  where  the  Arno  traverses  the  plain  of 
Campaldino  was  the  scene  of  a  celebrated  battle 
on  the  11th  of  June,  1289.  The  Aretines,  who 
formed   the   chief   portion    of   the    Ghibelline 


Florentine  Backgrounds  157 

party,  were  routed  with  a  loss  of  1,700  men 
killed,  and  2,000  taken  prisoners.  Among  the 
former  was  the  celebrated  Guglielmino  Uber- 
tini,  Bishop  of  Arezzo,  who  fell  fighting  des- 
perately in  the  thickest  of  the  fray,  having  ral- 
lied his  troops  upon  the  bridge  at  Poppi,  half 
a  mile  further  on.  Dante  was  present  at  this 
battle,  being  then  twenty-four  years  old,  and 
serving  in  the  Guelpli  cavalry. 

The  Casentino  is  the  most  opulent  district  in 
all  the  region  of  the  Apennines.  Six  centuries 
ago  the  Counts  Palatine  of  Tuscany  held  it; 
then  came  the  Popes,  and  then  Dante  and  his 
followers.  The  chronicles  of  the  Casentino  are 
most  fascinating  reading,  particularly  those 
concerned  with  the  Counts  of  Guidi. 

Guidoguerra  IV,  Count  Palatine  of  Tuscany 
in  the  early  thirteenth  century,  was  a  sort  of 
Robin  Hood,  except  that  he  was  not  an  outlaw. 
He  made  a  road  near  the  home  of  the  monks 
of  Camaldoli,  and  intruded  armed  men  into 
their  solitude,  "  and  worse  still,  play  actors 
and  women,"  where  all  women  had  been  for- 
bidden: moreover,  he  had  all  the  oxen  of  the 
monks  driven  off.  He  played  pranks  on  the 
minstrels  and  buffoons  who  came  to  his  palace. 
One  minstrel,  named  Malanotte,  he  compelled 
to  spend  a  bad  night  on  the  rooftop  in  the 


158     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

snow;  another,  Maldecorpo,  had  to  lie  and  siz- 
zle between  two  fires ;  while  a  third,  Abbas,  he 
tonsured  by  pulling  out  his  hair. 

Literally  translated  Casentino  means  "  the 
valley  enclosed. "  It  is  a  most  romantic  region, 
and  the  praises  of  its  mountain  walls  and  chest- 
nut woods  have  been  sung  by  all  sojourners 
there,  ever  since  Dante  set  the  fashion. 

The  life  of  the  peasant  of  the  Casentino  to- 
day is  much  the  same  as  in  Dante's  time,  and 
his  pleasures  and  sorrows  are  expressed  in 
much  the  same  manner  as  of  old.  Strange  folk- 
songs and  dances,  strange  dramas  of  courtship, 
and  strange  religious  ceremonies  all  find  place 
here  in  this  unspoiled  little  forest  tract  between 
Florence  and  Arezzo ;  along  whose  silent  paths 
one  may  wander  for  hours  and  come  across  no 
one  but  a  few  contented  charcoal-burners  who 
know  nothing  beyond  their  own  woods. 

On  the  lower  levels,  the  highway  leading 
from  Florence  to  Perugia  and  Foligno  rolls 
along,  as  silent  as  it  was  in  mediaeval  times.  It 
is  by  no  means  a  dull  monotonous  road,  though 
containing  fewer  historic  places  than  the  road 
by  Siena  or  Viterbo.  It  is  an  alternative  route 
from  north  to  south;  and  the  most  direct  one 
into  the  heart  of  Umbria. 

On  arriving  from  Florence  by  the  highroad 


Florentine  Backgrounds  159 

one  passes  through,  the  long  main  street  of 
Montevarchi,  threading  his  way  carefully  to 
avoid,  if  possible,  the  dogs  and  ducks  which 
run  riot  everywhere. 

A  great  fertile  plain  stretches  out  on  eacli 
side  of  the  Arno,  the  railway  sounding  the  only 
modern  note  to  be  heard,  save  the  honk !  honk ! 
(the  French  say  coin,  coin,  which  is  better) 
of  an  occasional  passing  automobile. 

Up  and  down  the  hills  ox  teams  plough  fur- 
rows as  straight  as  on  the  level,  and  the  gen- 
eral view  is  pastoral  until  one  strikes  the  for- 
ests neighbouring  upon  Arezzo,  eighty  kilome- 
tres from  I'lorence. 

Here  all  is  savage  and  primeval.  Here  was 
many  a  brigand 's  haunt  in  the  old  days,  but  the 
Government  has  wiped  out  the  roving  banditti ; 
and  to-day  the  greatest  discomfort  which  would 
result  from  a  hold-up  would  be  a  demand  for 
a  cigar,  or  a  box  of  matches.  At  Palazzaccio,  a 
mere  hamlet  en  route,  was  the  hiding  place  of 
the  once  notorious  brigand  Spadolino ;  a  sort  of 
stage  hero,  who  affected  to  rob  the  rich  for 
the  benefit  of  the  poor  —  a  kind  of  socialism 
which  was  never  successful.  Robin  Hood  tried 
it,  so  did  Macaire,  Gaspard  de  Besse  and  Robert 
le  Diable  and  they  all  came  to  timely  capture. 

Spadolino  one  day  stopped  a  carriage  near 


160     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

Palazzaccio,  cut  the  throats  of  its  occupants 
and  gave  their  gold  to  a  poor  miller,  Giacomo 
by  name,  who  wanted  ninety  francesconi  to  pay 
his  rent.  This  was  the  last  cunning  trick  of 
Spadolino,  for  he  was  soon  captured  and  hung 
at  the  Porta  Santa  Croce  at  Florence,  as  a 
warning  to  his  kind. 

Not  every  hurried  traveller  who  flies  by  ex- 
press train  from  Florence  to  Rome  puts  foot 
to  earth  and  makes  acquaintance  with  Arezzo. 
The  automobilist  does  better,  he  stops  here,  for 
one  reason  or  another,  and  he  sees  things  and 
learns  things  hitherto  unknown  to  him. 

Arezzo  should  not  be  omitted  from  the  itin- 
erary of  any  pilgrim  to  Italy.  It  was  one  of 
the  twelve  cities  of  the  Etruscan  federation, 
and  made  peace  with  Eome  in  310  a.  d.  and  for 
ever  remained  its  ally. 

The  Flaminian  Way,  built  by  the  Consul  Fla- 
minius  in  187  b.  c,  between  Arctium  (Arezzo) 
and  Bononia  (Bologna),  is  still  traceable  in  the 
neighbourhood. 

Petrarch  is  Arezzo 's  deity,  and  his  birth- 
place is  to  be  found  to-day  on  the  Via  del  Orto. 
On  the  occasion  of  the  great  fete  given  in  1904 
in  honour  of  the  six  hundredth  anniversary  of 
his  birth,  the  municipality  made  this  place  a 
historic  monument. 


Florentine  Backgrounds  161 

Vasari,  who  as  a  biographer  has  been  very 
useful  to  makers  of  books  ou  art,  was  also  born 
at  Arezzo  in  1512.  His  house  is  a  landmark. 
Local  guides  miscall  it  a  palace,  but  in  reality 
it  is  a  very  humble  edifice;   not  at  all  palatial. 

The  Palazzo  Pretoria  at  Arezzo  has  one  of 
the  most  bizarre  fagades  extant,  albeit  its  dec- 
orative and  cypher  panels  add  no  great  archi- 
tectural beauty. 

Arezzo 's  cathedral  is  about  the  saddest,  ugli- 
est religious  edifice  in  Italy.  Within  is  the 
tomb  of  Pope  Gregory  X. 

Poppi  and  Bibbiena  are  the  two  chief  towns 
of  the  upper  valley.  Each  is  blissfully  unaware 
of  the  world  that  has  gone  before,  and  has  lit- 
tle in  common  with  the  life  of  to-day,  save  such 
intimacy  as  is  brought  by  the  railroad  train,  as 
it  screeches  along  in  the  valley  between  them 
half  a  dozen  times  a  day. 

Poppi  sits  on  a  high  table  rock,  its  feet 
washed  by  the  flowing  Arno.  The  town  itself 
is  dead  or  sleeping ;  but  most  of  its  houses  are 
frankly  modern,  in  that  they  ar^  well  kept  and 
freshly  painted  or  whitewashed. 

The  only  old  building  in  Poppi,  not  in  ruins, 
is  its  castle,  occupying  the  highest  part  of  the 
rock;  a  place  of  some  strength  before  the  use 
of  heavy  guns.    It  was  built  by  Lapo  in  1230, 


162     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

and  bears  a  family  resemblance  to  the  Palazzo 
Vecchio  at  Florence.  The  court-yard  contains 
some  curious  architecture,  and  a  staircase  cele- 
brated for  the  skill  shown  in  its  construction. 
It  resembles  that  in  the  Bargello  at  Florence, 
and  leads  to  a  chapel  containing  frescoes  which, 
according  to  Vasari,  are  by  Spinello  Aretino. 

Poppi  is  a  good  point  from  which  to  explore 
the  western  slopes  of  Vallombrosa  or  Monte 
Secchieta.  The  landlord  and  the  local  guides 
will  lead  one  up  through  the  celebrated  groves 
at  a  fixed  price  "  tutto  compreso,"  and,  if  j^ou 
are  liberal  with  your  tip,  will  open  a  bottle  of 
"  vino  santo  "  for  you.  Could  hospitality  and 
fair  dealing  go  further? 

Bibbiena,  the  native  town  of  Francesco  Berni, 
and  of  the  Cardinal  Bibbiena,  who  was  the 
patron  of  Raphael,  has  many  of  the  character- 
istics of  Poppi,  in  point  of  site  and  surround- 
ings. It  is  the  point  of  departure  for  the  con- 
vent of  La  Verna,  built  by  St.  Francis  of  Assisi 
in  1215 ;  situated  high  on  a  shoulder  of  rugged 
rock.  The  highest  point  of  the  mountain,  on 
which  it  stands,  is  called  La  Penna,  the  "  rock  " 
or  ''  divide  "  between  the  valleys  of  the  Arno 
and  the  Tiber.  To  the  eastward  are  seen  Um- 
bria  and  the  mountains  of  Perugia;  on  the 
west,  the  valley  of  the  Casentino  and  the  chain 


Florentine  Backgrounds  163 

of  the  Prato  Magno;  to  the  northward  is  the 
source  of  the  Arno,  and  to  the  northeast,  that 
of  the  Tiber. 

To  the  east,  just  where  the  Casentino,  by- 
means  of  the  cross  road  connecting  with  the 
Via  Emilia,  held  its  line  of  communication 
with  the  Adriatic,  is  the  Romagna,  a  district 
where  feudal  strife  and  warfare  were  rampant 
throughout  the  middle  ages.  From  its  story 
it  would  seem  as  though  the  region  never  had 
a  tranquil  moment. 

The  chain  of  little  towns  of  the  Romagna  is 
full  of  souvenirs  of  the  days  when  seigneuries 
were  carved  out  of  pontifical  lands  by  the  sword 
of  some  rebel  who  flaunted  the  temporal  power 
of  the  church.  These  were  strictly  personal 
properties,  and  their  owners  owed  territorial 
allegiance  to  the  Pope  no  more  than  they  did 
to  the  descendants  of  the  Emperors. 

Rex  Romanorum  as  a  doctrine  was  dead  for 
ever.  Guelph  and  Ghibelline  held  these  little 
seigneuries,  turn  by  turn,  and  from  the  Adriatic 
to  the  Gulf  of  Spezia  there  was  almost  constant 
warfare,  sometimes  petty,  sometimes  gi-eat.  It 
was  warfare,  too,  between  families,  between 
people  of  the  same  race,  the  most  bloody,  disas- 
trous and  sad  of  all  warfare. 


CHAPTER'  IX 


THE   ROAD   TO   EOME 


Siena,  crowning  its  precipitous  hillside, 
stands,  to-day,  unchanged  from  what  it  was  in 
the  days  of  the  Triumvirate.  Church  tower 
and  castle  wall  jut  out  into  a  vague  mystery  of 
silhouetted  outline,  whether  viewed  by  daylight 
or  moonlight.  The  great  gates  of  the  ramparts 
still  guard  the  approach  on  all  sides,  and  the 
Porta  Camollia  of  to-day  is  the  same  through 
which  the  sons  of  Remus  entered  when  fleeing 
from  their  scheming  Uncle,  Romulus. 

Siena's  Piazza  Vittorio  Emanuele  is  a  land- 
mark. Dante  called  it  "  a  great  square  where 
men  live  glorioushT"  free,"  though  then  it  was 
simply  the  Piazza;  and  the  picture  is  true  to- 
day, if  in  a  different  sense.  In  former  days  it 
was  a  bloody  "  mis-en-scene  "  for  intrigue  and 
jealousy;  but,  to-day,  simply  the  centre  of  the 
life  and  movement  of  a  prosperous,  thriving, 
though  less  romantic  city  of  thirty  thousand 
souls. 

164 


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'Mm^- 1 W  -'Ji--"'-  iJy  iiJjfi  jjt 


Palazzo  dell  a  Signoria,  Siena 


The  Road  to  Rome  165 

This  great  Piazza  is  rounded  off  by  a  halo  of 
magnificent  feudal  palaces,  whose  very  names 
are  romantic. 

All  about  Siena's  squares  and  street  comers 
are  innumerable  gurgling,  spouting  fountains, 
many  of  them  artistically  and  monumentally 
beautiful,  and  a  few  even  dating  from  the  glori- 
ous days  of  old. 

Dante  sang  of  Siena's  famous  fountains 
which,  in  truth,  form  a  galaxy  of  artistic  ac- 
cessories of  life  hardly  to  be  equalled  in  any 
other  city  of  Siena's  class.  Leaving  that  "  no- 
ble extravagance  in  marble,"  Siena's  Cathe- 
dral, and  its  churches  quite  apart,  the  city  ranks 
as  one  of  the  most  interesting  tourist  points 
of  Italy. 

Siena  has  still  left  a  relic  of  mediaevalism  in 
the  revival  of  its  ancient  horse  racing  festa, 
when  its  great  Piazza  Vittorio  Emanuele  is 
built  up  and  barricaded  like  a  circus  of  Roman 
times.  Chariot  races,  gladiatorial  combats  and 
bull  fights,  all  had  their  partisans  among  muni- 
cipalities, but  Siena's  choice  was  horse  racing. 
And  each  year,  ''  II  Palio,"  on  July  the  2nd 
and  on  August  the  16th,  becomes  a  great  pop- 
ular amusement  of  the  Sienese.  It  is  most  in- 
teresting, and  still  picturesquely  medieval  in 
costuming  and  setting;   and  is  a  civic  function 


166     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

and  fete  a  great  deal  more  artistically  done  — 
as  goes  without  saying  —  than  the  Guy  Fawkes 
celebrations  of  London,  or  the  fourth  of  July 
'^  horribles  "  in  America.  For  the  thoroughly 
genuine  and  artistic  pageant  Anglo  Saxons 
have  to  go  to  Italy.  There  is  nothing  to  be 
learned  from  the  Mardi-Gras  celebrations  of 
Paris  nor  the  carnivals  of  the  Cote  d'Azur. 

Some  one  has  said  that  Siena  sits  on  the 
border  land  between  idyllic  Tuscany  and  the 
great  central  Italian  plain.  Literally  this  is  so. 
It  marks  the  distinction  between  the  grave  and 
the  gay  so  far  as  manners  and  customs  and 
conditions  of  life  go.  On  the  north  are  the 
charming,  smiling  hills  and  vales,  bright  with 
villas,  groves  and  vines;  whilst  to  the  south, 
towards  Rome  and  the  Campagna,  all  is  of  an 
austerity  of  present  day  fact  and  past  tradi- 
tion. Indeed,  the  landscape  would  be  stern  and 
repellent,  were  it  not  picturesquely  savage. 

Straight  runs  the  highroad  to  Rome  via  Vi- 
terbo,  or  makes  a  detour  via  Montepulciano  and 
Orvieto.  At  Asinalunga,  Garibaldi  was  ar- 
rested by  government  spies,  by  the  order  of  the 
monarch  to  whom  he  had  presented  the  sov- 
ereignty of  Naples.  Such  is  official  ingratitude, 
ofttimes!  The  town  itself  is  unworthy  of  re- 
mark, save  for  that  incident  of  history. 


The  Road  to  Rome  1G7 

By  the  direct  road  the  mountains  of  Orvieto 
and  Montepulciano  rise  grimly  to  the  left.  The 
towns  bearing  the  same  names  are  charming 
enough  from  the  artistic  point  of  view,  but  are 
not  usually  reckoned  tourist  sights. 

Montepulciano  is  commonly  thought  of  slight 
interest,  but  it  is  the  very  ideal  of  an  unspoiled 
mediaeval  town,  with  a  half  dozen  palazzo  fa- 
cades, which  might  make  the  name  and  fame  of 
some  modern  scene  painter  if  he  would  copy 
them. 

Chiusi,  on  the  direct  road,  lies  embedded  in 
a  circle  of  hills  and  surrounded  by  orange 
groves.  It  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a 
glorified  graveyard,  but  is  unique  in  its  class. 
Lars  Porsena  of  Clusium  comes  down  to  us  as 
a  memory  of  school-time  days,  and  for  that 
reason,  if  no  other,  we  consider  it  our  duty  to 
visit  the  Etruscan  tombs  of  Clusium,  the  mod- 
ern Chiusi. 

There  are  three  distinct  tiers,  or  shelves,  of 
these  ancient  tombs,  and  interesting  enough 
they  are  to  all,  but  only  the  antiquary  will  have 
any  real  passion  for  them,  so  most  of  us  are 
glad  enough  to  spin  our  way  by  road  another 
fifty  odd  kilometres  to  Orvieto. 

Four  kilometres  of  a  precipitous  hill  climb 
leads  from  the  lower  road  up  into  Orvieto,  zig- 


168     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

zagging  all  the  way.  It  is  the  same  bit  of  road- 
way up  which  the  Popes  fled  in  the  middle  ages 
when  hard  pressed  by  their  enemies.  Clement 
VII,  one  of  the  unhappy  Medici,  fled  here  after 
the  sinning  Connetable  Bourbon  attempted  the 
sacking  of  Rome;  and  a  sheltering  stronghold 
he  found  it. 

This  Papal  city  of  refuge  is,  to-day,  a  more 
or  less  squalid  place,  with  here  and  there  a 
note  of  something  more  splendid.  On  the  whole 
Orvieto's  charm  is  not  so  much  in  the  grandeur 
of  its  monuments  as  in  their  character.  The 
cathedral  is  reckoned  one  of  the  great  Gothic 
shrines  of  Italy,  and  that,  indeed,  is  the  chief 
reason  for  most  of  the  tourist  travel.  The  few 
mediaeval  palaces  that  Orvieto  possesses  are 
very  splendid,  though  they,  one  and  all,  suffer 
from  their  cramped  surroundings. 

The  Hotel  Belle  Arti,  to-day,  with  a  garage 
for  automobiles,  was  the  ancient  Palazzo  Bi- 
senzi.  It  had  a  reputation  among  travellers, 
of  a  decade  or  a  generation  ago,  of  being  a 
broken-down  palace  and  a  worse  hotel.  If  one 
wants  to  dwell  in  marble  halls  and  sleep  where 
royal  heads  have  slept,  one  can  do  all  this,  at 
Orvieto,  for  eight  or  nine  lire  a  day. 

One  enters  Viterbo,  forty-seven  kilometres 
from  Orvieto,  by  the  highroad  to  Rome.    The 


^i^ 


o 


The  Road  to  Rome  1G9 

little  town  preserves  much  of  its  mediaeval  char- 
acteristics to-day,  though,  indeed,  it  is  a  pro- 
gressive, busy  place,  of  something  like  twenty 
thousand  souls,  most  of  whom  appear  to  be 
engaged  in  the  wine  industry.  On  the  Piazza 
Fontana  is  a  magnificent  Gothic  fountain  dating 
from  the  thirteenth  century,  and  the  Municipio, 
on  the  Piazza  del  Plebiscito,  is  of  a  contem- 
porary period,  with  a  fine  fountained  court- 
yard. 

In  the  environs  of  Viterbo  is  a  splendid  pal- 
ace, built  by  Vignola  for  the  Cardinal  Farnese, 
nephew  of  the  Pope  Paul  III.  In  form  it  was 
a  great  square  mass  with  its  angles  reinforced 
by  square  towers,  with  a  circular  court  within, 
surrounded  by  an  arcade  by  which  one  entered 
the  various  apartments.  It  was,  perhaps,  the 
most  originally  conceived  work  of  its  particular 
epoch  of  Renaissance  times ;  and  all  the  master 
minds  and  hands  of  the  builders  of  the  day 
seem  to  have  had  more  or  less  to  do  with  it. 
These  Italians  of  the  Renaissance  were  invent- 
ors of  nothing;  but  their  daring  and  ingenuity 
in  combining  ideas  taken,  bodily,  from  those 
of  antiquity,  made  more  successful  and  happy 
combinations  than  those  of  the  architects  of 
to-day,  who  build  theatres  after  the  models  of 
Venetian  palaces,  and  add  a  Moorish  minaret; 


170     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

or  railway  stations  on  the  plan  of  the  Parthe- 
non, and  put  a  campanile  in  the  middle,  like  the 
chimney  of  a  blast  furnace.  The  Italian  cam- 
panile was  a  bell-tower,  to  be  sure,  but  it  had 
nothing  in  common  with  the  minaret  of  the  east, 
nor  the  church  spire  of  the  Gothic  builder  in 
northern  climes. 

From  Siena  the  coast  road  to  Rome,  prac- 
tically the  same  distance  as  the  inland  route, 
is  one  of  surprising  contrast.  It  approaches 
the  coast  at  Grosseto,  seventy  kilometres  from 
Siena,  and  thence,  all  the  way  to  Rome,  skirts 
the  lapping  waves  of  the  Tyrrhenian  Sea.  Off 
shore  is  Elba,  with  its  Napoleonic  memories, 
and  the  Island  of  Monte  Cristo  which  is  consid- 
ered usually  a  myth,  but  which  exists  in  the 
real  to-day,  as  it  did  when  Dumas  romanced 
( sic)  about  it.  A  long  pull  of  a  hundred  kilome- 
tres over  a  flat  country,  half  land,  half  water, 
brings  one  to  Civita-Vecchia,  eighty  kilometres 
from  the  Eternal  City  itself. 

Civita-Vecchia  is  a  watering-place  without 
historical  interest,  where  the  Romans  come  to 
make  a  seaside  holiday.  Hotels  of  all  ranks  are 
here,  and  garage  accommodations  as  well.  The 
Italian  mail  boats  for  Sardinia  leave  daily,  if 
'one  is  inclined  to  make  a  side  trip  to  that  land 
of  brigandage  and  the  evil-eye,  which  are  re- 


The  Road  to  Rome  171 

puted  a  little  worse  than  the  Corsican  or  Si- 
cilian varieties. 

One  enters  the  heart  of  Rome  by  the  Porta 
Cavalleggeri  and  crosses  the  Ponte  S.  Angelo 
to  get  his  bearings. 

The  hotels  of  Rome  are  like  those  of  Flor- 
ence. One  must  hmit  his  abiding  place  out  for 
himself,  according  to  his  likes  and  dislikes.  The 
Grand-Hotel  and  the  Hotel  de  la  Minerve  are 
vouched  for  by  the  Touring  Club,  and  the 
former  has  garage  accommodation.  At  either 
of  these  modern  establishments  you  get  the  fare 
of  Paris,  Vienna,  London  and  New  York,  and 
very  little  that  is  Italian.  You  may  even  bathe 
in  porcelain  tubs  installed  by  a  London  plumber 
and  drink  cocktails  mixed  by  an  expert  from 
Broadway. 

This  makes  one  long  for  the  days  when  a 
former  generation  ate  in  a  famous  eating  house 
which  stood  at  the  southeast  corner  of  the 
Square  Saint  Eustace.  It  was  the  resort  of 
artists  and  men  of  letters  and  the  plats  that 
it  served  were  famous  the  world  over. 

The  Romans'  pride  in  Rome  is  as  conven- 
tional as  it  is  ancient.  They  promptly  took 
sides  when  the  ''  Italians  "  entered  their  be- 
loved city  in  1870.  The  priests,  the  higher  prel- 
ates,  and  the   papal  nobility  were   '^  for   the 


172     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

Pope,"  but  the  great  middle  class,  the  common 
people,  were  for  the  "  Italians."  Traditions 
die  hard  in  Kome,  and  many  an  old  resident 
will  tell  tales  to-day  of  the  blessings  of  a  Papal 
Government,  which  formerly  forbade  the  dis- 
cussion of  religion  or  politics  in  public  places, 
and  "  contaminating  "  books  and  newspapers 


BARBE.RINI     COL-ONNA       ORSlNI 


PONTI  PAA^FIU        ALOOBRANDIMI  FARNE,SC 


were  stopped  at  the  frontier.  Even  a  non- 
smoker  was  considered  a  protestor  against  the 
Papacy,  because  to  smoke  was  to  be  a  supporter 
of  the  Papal  Government's  revenue  from  the 
tobacco  trade. 

Eome  without  the  forestieri,  or  strangers, 
would  lose  considerable  of  its  present  day  pros- 
perity. Rome  exploits  strangers;  there  is  no 
doubt  about  that;    that  is  almost  its  sole  in- 


The  Road  to  Rome  173 

dustry.  As  Henri  Taine  said :  * '  Rome  is  noth- 
ing but  a  shop  which  sells  bric-a-brac."  He 
might  have  added:  ''  with  a  branch  establish- 
ment which  furnishes  food  and  lodging. ' ' 

The  Roman  population,  as  Roman,  is  now 
entirely  absorbed  by  "  the  Italian."  No  more 
are  the  contadini,  the  peasants  of  the  Cam- 
pagna,  or  the  bearded  mountaineers  of  the  Sa- 
bine hills,  different  from  their  brothers  of  Tus- 
cany or  Lombardy;  their  physiognomies  have 
become  the  same.  The  monks  and  seminarists 
and  priests  and  prelates  are  still  there,  but  only 
by  sufferance,  like  ourselves.  They  are  no  more 
Romans  than  are  we.  Tourists  in  knickerbock- 
ers, awe-struck  before  the  art  treasures  of  the 
Vatican,  and  cassocked  priests  on  pilgrimage 
are  everywhere  in  the  city  of  the  Caesars  and 
the  Popes.  The  venerable  Bede  was  half  right 
only  in  his  prophecy. 

"  While  stands  the  Coliseum,  Rome  shall  stand; 
When  falls  the  Coliseum,  Rome  shall  fall; 
And  when  Rome  falls —  the  world!  " 

Rome  is  still  there,  and  many  of  its  monu- 
ments, fragmentary  though  they  be. 

The  difference  in  the  grade  (ground  level) 
of  modern  Rome,  as  compared  with  that  of 
antiquity,  a  difference  of  from  sixty  to  seventy 


174     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

feet,  may  still  be  expected  to  give  up  finds  to 
the  industrious  pick  and  shovel  properly  and 
intelligently  handled.  The  archaeological  stra- 
tum, is  estimated  as  nine  miles  square. 

Rome  is  a  much  worked-over  field,  but  the 
desecrations  of  the  middle  ages  were  hardly 
less  disastrous  to  its  "  antiquities  "  than  the 
new  municipality's  transformations.  Some  day 
the  seven  hills  will  be  levelled,  and  boulevards 
and  public  gardens  laid  out  and  trees  planted 
in  the  Forum;  then  where  will  be  the  Rome 
of  the  CsBsars  ?  ' '  Rome,  Unhappy  City !  ' '  some 
one  has  said,  and  truly;  not  for  its  past,  but  for 
its  present.  Whatever  the  fascination  of  Rome 
may  be  it  is  not  born  of  first  impressions ;  the 
new  quarters  are  painfully  new  and  the  streets 
are  unpicturesque  and  the  Tiber  is  dirty,  muddy 
and  ill-smelling.  Byron  in  his  day  thought  dif- 
ferently, for  he  sang:  "  the  most  living  crystal 
that  was  e'er."  Should  he  come  back  again 
he  would  sing  another  song.  These  elements 
find  their  proper  places  in  the  city's  ensemble 
after  a  time,  but  at  first  they  are  a  disappoint- 
ment. 

Next  to  Saint  Peter's,  the  Vatican  and  the 
Colosseum,  the  Castle  of  Sant'  Angelo  is 
Rome's  most  popular  monument.  It  has  been 
a  fortress  for  a  thousand  years.     For  a  thou- 


Co 

o 


^ 

o 


The  Road  to  Rome 


175 


sand  years  a  guard  has  been  posted  at  its  gate- 
way. 

The  ruin  of  men  which  has  passed  within  its 
walls  is  too  lengthy  a  chronicle  to  recount  here. 
Lorenzo  Colonna,  of  all  others,  shed  his  blood 
most  nobly.    Because  he  would  not  say  "  Long 


u<rMXjM!^^om'\K^Ti<:Mn.oW^ 


live  the  Orsini,"  he  was  led  to  the  block,  a  new 
block  ready  made  for  this  special  purpose,  and 
having  delivered  himself  in  Latin  of  the  words : 
' '  Lord,  into  Thy  hands  I  comm.end  my  spirit, ' ' 
gave  up  his  life  in  the  last  quarter  of  the  fif- 
teenth century,  ''  on  the  last  day  of  June  when 
the  people  of  Rome  were  celebrating  the  fes- 
tivity of  the  decapitation  of  Saint  Paul  the 
Apostle."    This  was  four  centuries  and  more 


176     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

ago,  but  the  circling  walls  and  the  dull,  damp 
corridors  of  the  Castel  Sant'  Angelo  still  echo 
the  terror  and  suffering  which  formerly  went 
on  within  them.  It  is  the  very  epitome  of  the 
character  of  the  structure.  It  architecture  and 
its  history  are  in  grim  accord. 

Within  the  great  round  tower  of  Sant'  An- 
gelo was  imprisoned  the  unnatural  Catherine 
Sforza  while  the  Borgias  were  besieging  her 
city. 

The  Castel  of  Sant'  Angelo  and  the  bridge  of 
the  same  name  are  so  called  in  honour  of  an 
Angel  who  descended  before  Saint  Gregory  the 
Great  and  saved  Rome  from  a  pest  which 
threatened  to  decimate  it. 

Close  to  the  bridge  of  Sant'  Angelo,  just 
opposite  Nona's  Tower,  once  stood  the  "  Lion 
Inn,"  kept  by  the  lovely  Vanozza  de  Catanei, 
the  mother  of  Caesar,  Gandia  and  Lucrezia 
Borgia.  She  was  an  inn-keeper  of  repute,  ac- 
cording to  history,  and  her  career  was  most 
momentus.  The  automobilist  wonders  if  this 
inn  were  not  a  purveyor  of  good  cheer  as 
satisfactory  as  the  great  establishments  with 
French,  English  and  German  names  which 
cater  for  tourists  to-day. 

The  Villa  Medici  just  within  the  walls,  and 
the  Villa  Borghese  just  without,  form  a  group 


The  Borgia   Window,  Rome 


The  Road  to  Rome 


177 


which  tourists  usually  do  as  a  morning's  sight 
seeing.      They    do    too   much!      Anyway    one 


doesn't  need  to  take  his  automobile  from  its 
garage  for  the  excursion,  so  these  classic  villas 
are  only  mentioned  here. 


178     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 


To  describe  and  illustrate  the  Villa  Medici 
one  must  have  the  magic  pen  of  a  Virgil  and 
the  palette  of  a  Poussin  and  a  Claude  Lorrain. 
In  antiquity  the  site  was  known  as  the  Collis 
Hortorum,  the  Hillside  of  Gardens.    LucuUus, 

Prince  of  Voluptu- 
ousness, and  Mes- 
saline,  the  Empress 
of  debauch,  there 
celebrated  their 
fetes  of  luxury  and 
passion,  and  it  be- 
came in  time  even 
a  picnic  ground  for 
holiday  making 
Komans. 

The  Villa  Medici 
was  originally  built 
for  Cardinal  Eicci 
in  1540,  but  by  the 
end  of  the  century 


had  come  into  the 
hands  of  Cardinal 
Alessandro  di  Med- 
ici. The  Tuscan 
Grand  Duke  s 
owned  it  a  century 
or  so  later  on,  and  it  was  finally  sold  to  the 


IPIEEILJ^Tl 


o 


...^l^^u^^..^^ ^^.-.^>^-..^^>.aK>,^M>^yfa,>nuiMkri»im 


The  Road  to  Rome  179 

French  to  house  the  academy  of  arts  founded 
at  Rome  by  Louis  XV. 

It  is  useless  for  a  modern  writer  to  attempt 
to  describe  the  quiet  charm  of  the  surroundings 
of  the  Villa  Borghese,  the  nearest  of  the  great 
country  houses  to  the  centre  of  Rome.  Many 
have  tried  to  do  so,  but  few  have  succeeded. 
Better  far  that  one  should  point  the  way 
thither,  make  a  personal  observation  or  two 
and  then  onward  to  Tivoli,  Albano  or  Fras- 
cati. 

One  word  on  the  Forum  ere  leaving.  Not 
even  the  most  restless  automobilist  neglects  a 
stroll  about  the  Forum,  no  matter  how  often  he 
may  have  been  here  before,  though  its  palaces 
of  antiquity  have  little  more  than  their  outline 
foundations  to  tell  their  story  to-day. 

Commendatore  Boni,  who  has  charge  of  the 
excavations,  brought  to  light  recently  a  curi- 
ously inscribed  stone  tablet,  which,  owing  to 
the  archaic  Latin  it  contained,  he  found  it  im- 
possible to  read.  A  number  of  learned  Latin- 
ists  and  archaeologists  soon  gathered  about  him. 
This  is  what  they  read : 

QUE 

STAELA  VI 

A 

DEGLIA  SINI 


180     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

While  some  declared  that  "  que  "  was  an 
enclitic  conjunction,  and  that  therefore  the  in- 
scription must  be  incomplete,  others  asserted 
that  the  word  was  an  abbreviation  of  '^  queo," 
and  that  the  inscription  might  be  read:  "  I 
am  able  to  gaze  upon  the  star  without  pain." 

Wliile  the  dispute  was  on,  a  peasant  of  the 
Campagna  passed  by.  He  approached  and 
asked  the  reason  of  the  crowd.  He  was  told, 
and  gazing  at  the  inscription  for  several  min- 
utes he  read  slowly : 

''  Questa  e  la  via  degli  asini  "  (''  This  is  the 
way  of  asses."). 

And  the  Latinists,  the  archaeologists,  and  the 
other  savants  crept  quietly  away,  while  the 
Commendatore  in  good,  modern  Tuscan  made 
some  remarks  unprintable  and  untranslatable. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE   CAMPAGNA   AND   BEYOND 

The  environs  of  Rome  —  those  parts  not 
given  over  to  fox-hunting  and  horse-racing,  im- 
portations which  have  been  absorbed  by  the 
latter  day  Roman  from  the  forestieri  —  still 
retain  most  of  their  characteristics  of  historic 
times.  The  Campagna  is  still  the  Campagna; 
the  Alban  Hills  are  still  classic  ground,  and 
Tivoli  and  Frascati  —  in  spite  of  the  modem- 
isms  which  have,  here  and  there,  crept  in  —  are 
still  the  romantic  Tivoli  and  Frascati  of  the 
ages  long  gone  by. 

The  surrounding  hills  of  Rome  are,  really, 
what  give  it  its  charm.  The  city  is  strong  in 
contrast  from  every  aspect,  modernity  nudging 
and  crowding  antiquity.  Rome  itself  is  not 
lovely,  only  superbly  and  majestically  over- 
powering in  its  complexity. 

The  Rome  of  romantic  times  went  as  far 
afield  as  Otricoli,  Ostia,  Tivoli  and  Albano,  and, 

181 


182     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

on  the  east,  these  outposts  were  further  encir- 
cled by  a  girdle  of  villas,  gardens  and  vineyards 
too  numerous  to  plot  on  any  map  that  was  ever 
made. 

Such  is  the  charm  of  Rome;  not  its  ruined 
temples,  fountains  and  statues  alone;  nor  yet 
its  great  churches  and  palaces,  and  above  all 
not  the  view  of  the  Colosseum  lit  up  by  coloured 
fires,  but  Rome  the  city  and  the  Campagna. 

There  is  no  question  that  the  Roman  Cam- 
pagna is  a  sad,  dreary  land  without  a  parallel 
in  the  well  populated  centres  of  Europe.  Said 
Chateaubriand:  "  It  possesses  a  silence  and 
solitude  so  vast  that  even  the  echoes  of  the 
tumults  of  the  past  enacted  upon  its  soil  are 
lost  in  the  very  expansiveness  of  the  flat  marshy 
plain. ' ' 

Balzac  too  wrote  in  the  same  vein:  "  Im- 
agine something  of  the  desolation  of  the  coun- 
try of  Tyre  and  Babylon  and  you  will  have  a 
picture  of  the  sadness  and  lonesomeness  of  this 
vast,  wide,  thinly  populated  region." 

The  similes  of  Balzac  and  of  Chateaubriand 
hold  good  to-day.  Long  horned  cattle  and 
crows  are  the  chief  living  things  —  and  mos- 
quitoes.   One  can't  forget  the  mosquitoes. 

Here  and  there  a  jagged  stump  of  a  pier  of 
a  Roman  aqueduct  pushes  up  through  the  herb- 


The  Campagna  and  Beyond        183 

grown  soil,  perhaps  even  an  arch  or  two,  or 
three  or  five;  but  hardly  a  tangible  remem- 
brance of  the  work  of  the  hand  of  man  is  left 
to-day,  to  indicate  the  myriads  of  comers  and 
goers  who  once  passed  over  its  famous  Appian 
Way,  The  Appian  Way  is  still  there,  loose 
ended  fragments  joined  up  here  and  there  with 
a  modern  roadway  which  has  become  its  suc- 
cessor, and  there  is  a  very  appreciable  traffic, 
such  as  it  is,  on  the  main  lines  of  roadway 
north  and  south;  but  east  and  west  and  round  "* 
about,  save  for  a  few  squalid  huts  and  droves 
of  cattle,  sheep  and  goats,  a  wayside  inn,  a 
fountain  beneath  a  cypress  and  a  few  sleepy, 
dusty  hamlets  and  villages,  there  is  nothing  to 
indicate  a  progressive  modern  existence.  All 
is  as  dead  and  dull  as  it  was  when  Rome  first 
decayed. 

Out  from  Rome,  a  couple  of  leagues  on  the 
Via  Campagna,  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Tiber, 
one  comes  to  the  sad  relic  of  La  Magliana,  the 
hunting  lodge  of  the  Renaissance  Popes.  The 
evolution  of  the  name  of  this  country  house 
comes  from  a  corruption  of  the  patronymic  of 
the  original  owners  of  the  land,  the  family  of 
Manlian,  who  were  farmers  in  390  b.  c. 

The  road  out  from  Rome,  by  the  crumbling 
Circus  Maxentius,  the  lone  fragments  of  Aque- 


184     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

duct,  and  the  moss-grown  tomb  of  Cecilia  Me- 
tellag,  rmis  for  a  dozen  kilometres  at  a  dead 
level,  to  rise  in  the  next  dozen  or  so  to  a  height 
of  four  hundred  and  sixty  odd  metres  just 
beyond  Albano,  when  it  descends  and  then  rises 
again  to  Velletri  ultimately  to  flatten  out  and 
continue  along  practically  at  sea-level  all  the 
way  to  Cassino,  a  hundred  and  ninety  kilome- 
tres from  Rome.  The  classification  given  to 
this  road  by  the  Touring  Club  Italiano  is  "  me- 
diocre e  polveroso,"  and  one  need  not  be  a  deep 
student  of  the  language  to  evolve  its  meaning. 

A  little  farther  away,  but  still  within  sight 
of  the  Eternal  City,  just  before  coming  to  Al- 
bano, is  Castel  Gandolfo,  a  Papal  stronghold 
since  the  middle  ages.  Urban  VIII  built  a 
Papal  palace  here,  and  the  seigniorial  chateau, 
since  transformed  into  a  convent,  was  a  sort 
of  summer  habitation  of  the  Popes.  The  status 
of  the  little  city  of  two  thousand  souls  is  pecul- 
iar. It  enjoys  extra-territorial  rights  which 
were  granted  to  the  papal  powers  by  the  new 
order  of  things  which  came  into  being  in  1871. 
A  zone  of  loveliness  surrounds  the  site  which 
overlooks,  on  one  side,  the  dazzling  little  Albano 
Lake  and,  on  the  other,  stretches  off  across  the 
Campagna  to  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean. 

Just  beyond  Castel  Gandolfo  is  Albano,  still 


The  Campagna  and  Beyond        185 

showing  vestiges  of  the  city  of  Domitian,  which, 
in  turn,  was  built  upon  the  ruins  of  that  of 
Pompey.  Albano's  fortifications  rank  as  the 
most  perfect  examples  of  their  class  in  all  Italy. 
They  tell  a  story  of  many  epochs ;  they  are  all 
massive,  and  are  largely  built  in  rough  polyg- 
onal masonry.  Towers,  turrets  and  temples 
are  all  here  at  Albano.  Still  the  town  is  not 
ranked  as  one  of  the  tourist  sights. 

The  Albano  Lake  is  another  one  of  those 
mysterious  bodies  of  water  without  source  or 
outlet.  It  occupies  the  crater  of  an  extinct  vol- 
cano, so  some  day  it  may  disappear  as  quickly 
as  it  came.  Concerning  its  origin  the  following 
local  legend  is  here  related:  "  Where  the  lake 
now  lies  there  stood  once  a  great  city.  Here, 
when  Jesus  Christ  came  to  Italy,  he  begged 
alms.  None  took  compassion  on  Him  but  an 
old  woman  who  gave  Him  some  meal.  He  then 
bade  her  leave  the  city:  she  obeyed;  the  city 
instantly  sank  and  the  lake  rose  in  its  place." 

This  legend  is  probably  founded  on  some 
vague  recollection  or  tradition  of  the  fall  of  the 
city  of  Veil,  which  was  so  flourishing  a  state 
at  the  time  of  the  foundation  of  Eome,  and 
possessed  so  many  attractions,  that  it  became 
a  question  whether  Rome  itself  should  not  be 
abandoned  for  Veii.     The  lake   of  Albano  is 


186     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

intimately  connected  with  the  siege  of  Veii  and 
no  place  has  more  vivid  memories  of  ancient 
Eoman  history. 

Here,  overlooking  the  lake,  once  rose  Alba 
Longa,  the  mother  city  of  Rome,  built  by  As- 
canius,  the  son  of  ^neas,  who  named  it  after 
the  white  sow  which  gave  birth  to  the  prodig- 
ious number  of  thirty  young. 

On  the  shore  of  the  lake,  opposite  Albano, 
is  Rocca  di  Papa.  The  convent  of  the  Passion- 
ist  Fathers  at  Rocca  di  Papa,  (the  city  itself 
being  the  one-time  residence  of  the  Anti-pope 
John)  was  built  by  Cardinal  York,  the  last  of 
the  Stuarts,  of  materials  taken  from  an  ancient 
temple  on  the  shores  of  Lake  Albano. 

Rocca  di  Papa  is  a  most  picturesque  little 
hilltop  village.  Its  sugar-loaf  cone  is  crowned 
with  an  old  castle  of  the  Colonnas  which  re- 
mained their  possession  until  1487,  when  the 
Orsini  in  their  turn  took  possession. 

Frascati,  on  the  Via  Tusculum,  about  oppo- 
site Castel  Gandolfo,  as  this  historic  roadway 
parallels  that  of  Claudius  Appius,  was  Rome's 
patrician  suburb,  and  to-day  is  the  resort  of 
nine-tenths  of  the  excursionists  out  from  Rome 
for  a  day  or  an  afternoon. 

Frascati,  the  villa  suburb,  and  Tivoli  alike 
depend  upon  their  sylvan  charms  to  set  off  the 


The  Campagna  and  Beyond        187 

beauties  of  their  palaces  and  villas.  It  was 
ever  the  custom  among  the  princely  Italian 
families  —  the  Farnese,  the  Borghese,  and  the 
Medici  —  to  lavish  their  wealth  on  the  laying 
out  of  the  grounds  quite  as  much  as  on  the 
building  of  their  palaces. 

Frascati's  villas  and  palaces  cannot  be  cata- 
logued here.  One  and  all  are  the  outgrowth  of 
an  ancient  Roman  pleasure  house  of  the  ninth 
century,  and  followed  after  as  a  natural  course 
of  events,  the  chief  attraction  of  the  place  being 
the  wild- wood  site  (frasche),  really  a  country 
faubourg  of  Eome  itself. 

The  Popes  and  Cardinals  favoured  the  spot 
for  their  country  houses,  and  the  nobles  fol- 
lowed in  their  train.  The  chief  of  Frascati's 
architectural  glories  are  the  Villa  Conti,  its 
fountains  and  its  gardens ;  the  Villa  Aldobran- 
dini  of  the  Cardinal  of  that  name,  the  nephew 
of  Pope  Clement  VIII;  and  the  Villa  Tuscu- 
lana,  or  Villa  Ruffinella,  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, but  afterwards  the  property  of  Lucien 
Bonaparte  and  the  scene  of  one  of  Washington 
Irving's  little  known  sketches,  ''  The  Adven- 
ture of  an  Artist."  The  Villa  Falconieri  at 
Frascati,  built  by  the  Cardinal  Ruffini  in  the 
sixteenth  century,  formerly  belonged  to  a  long 
line  of  Counts  and  Cardinals,  but  the  hand  of 


188     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

the  German,  which  is  grasping  everything  in 
sight,  in  all  quarters  of  the  globe,  that  other 
people  by  lack  of  foresight  do  not  seem  to  care 
for,  has  acquired  it  as  a  home  for  "  convales- 
cent "  German  artists.  Perhaps  the  omnific 
German  Emperor  seeks  to  rival  the  functions  of 
the  Villa  Medici  with  his  Villa  Falconieri.  He 
calls  it  a  hospital,  but  it  has  studios,  lecture 
rooms  and  what  not.  What  it  all  means  no  one 
seems  to  know. 

Minor  villas  are  found  dotted  all  over  Fras- 
cati's  hills,  with  charming  vistas  opening  out 
here  and  there  in  surprising  manner.  Not  all 
are  magnificently  grand,  few  are  superlatively 
excellent  according  to  the  highest  aesthetic 
standards,  but  all  are  of  the  satisfying,  grati- 
fying quality  that  the  layman  will  ever  accept 
as  something  better  than  his  own  conceptions 
would  lead  up  to.  That  is  the  chief  pleasure 
of  contemplation,  after  all. 

Above  Frascati  itself  lies  Tusculum,  founded, 
says  tradition,  by  a  son  of  Ulysses,  the  birth- 
place of  Cato  and  a  one  time  residence  of  Cic- 
ero. This  would  seem  enough  fame  for  any 
small  town  hardly  important  enough  to  have 
its  name  marked  on  the  map,  and  certainly  not 
noted  down  in  many  of  the  itineraries  for  auto- 
mobile tourists  which  cross  Italy  in  every  direc- 


The  Campagna  and  Beyond        ISO 

tion.  More  than  this,  Tusculum  has  the  ruins 
of  an  ancient  castle,  one  day  belonging  to  a 
race  of  fire-eating,  quarrelsome  counts  who 
leagued  themselves  with  any  one  who  had  a 
cause,  just  or  unjust,  for  which  to  fight.  Fight- 
ing was  their  trade,  but  Frederic  I  in  1167  beat 
them  at  their  own  game  and  razed  their  castle 
and  its  town  of  allies  huddled  about  its  walls. 
That  is  why  Tusculumi  has  not  become  a  tourist 
resort  to-day,  but  the  ruin  is  still  there  and  one 
can  imagine  a  different  destiny  had  fate,  or  a 
stronger  hand,  had  full  sway. 

From  Albano,  another  cross  road,  via  Velle- 
tri  to  Valmontone,  leads  in  twenty  odd  kilome- 
tres to  Palestrina,  whence  one  may  continue  his 
way  to  Subiaco  and  thence  to  Tivoli  and  enter 
Kome  again  via  the  Porta  San  Lorenzo,  having 
made  a  round  of  perhaps  a  hundred  and  fifty 
kilometres  of  as  varied  a  stretch  of  Italian 
roadway  as  could  possibly  be  found.  The 
gamut  of  scenic  and  architectural  joys  runs  all 
the  way  from  those  of  the  sea  level  Campagna 
and  its  monumental  remains  to  the  verdure  and 
romance  of  the  Alban  and  Sabine  Hills  and  the 
splendours  of  the  memories  of  the  Villa  of  Ha- 
drian at  Tivoli. 

Lying  well  back  from  the  Alban  hills  is  Pa- 
lestrina, the  greatest  stronghold  of  the  Colon- 


190     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

nas  and  where  a  branch  of  the  family  still 
maintains  a  country  house.  The  cradle  of  this 
great  family,  which  gave  so  many  popes  to 
Rome,  and  an  inspiration  and  a  divinity  to 
Michelangelo,  was  a  village  near  Palestrina. 
It  had  a  Corinthian  column  rising  in  its  piazza 
and  from  it  the  Colonna  took  their  family  arms. 
It  is  found  on  all  documents  relating  to  their 
history ;  on  tapestries,  furniture  and  medals  in 
many  museums  and  in  many  wood  carvings  in 
old  Roman  churches. 

Palestrina,  too,  has  memories  of  Michelan- 
gelo. The  treasures  of  masterpieces  left  by 
him  are  scattered  all  over  Italy  to  keep  fresh 
the  memory  of  his  name  and  fame. 

Subiaco  should  be  made  a  stopping  place  on 
every  automobilist's  itinerary  out  from  Rome. 
Some  wit  has  said  that  any  one  living  in  a  place 
ending  with  o  was  bound  to  be  unhappy.  He 
had  in  mind  one  or  two  sad  romances  of  Subi- 
aco, though  for  all  that  one  can  hardly  see  what 
the  letters  of  its  name  have  got  to  do  with  it. 
Subiaco  has  for  long  been  the  haunt  of  artists 
and  others  in  search  of  the  picturesque,  but  not 
the  general  run  of  tourists. 

Subiaco  is  still  primitive  in  most  things,  and 
this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  a  railway  has  been 
built  through  it  in  recent  years.    In  feudal  times 


jr 


Suhiaco 


The  Campagna  and  Beyond       191 

the  town  could  hardly  have  been  more  prhni- 
tive  than  now,  in  fact  the  only  thing  that  ever 
woke  it  from  lethargy  was  a  little  game  of  war- 
fare, sometimes  with  disaster  for  the  inhab- 
itants and  sometimes  for  the  other  side. 

The  castle  of  the  ruling  baron  sat  high  upon 
the  height.  What  is  left  of  it  is  there  to-day, 
but  its  capture  has  been  made  easier  with  the 
march  of  progress.  Down  from  the  castle  walls 
slopes  the  town,  its  happy,  unprogressive  peo- 
ple as  somnolent  as  of  yore. 

Subiaco  is  one  of  the  most  accessible  and 
conveniently  situated  hill  towns  of  Italy,  if  any 
would  seek  it  out.  Nero  first  exploited  Subiaco 
when  he  built  a  villa  here,  as  he  did  in  other 
likely  spots  round  about.  Nero  built  up  and  he 
burned  down  and  he  fiddled  all  the  while.  He 
was  decidedly  a  capricious  character.  History 
or  legend  says  that  Nero's  cup  of  cheer  was 
struck  from  his  hand  by  lightning  one  day  when 
he  was  drinking  the  wine  of  Subiaco  here  at 
his  hillside  villa.  He  escaped  miraculously,  but 
he  got  a  good  scare,  though  it  is  not  recorded 
that  he  signed  the  pledge ! 

Subiaco 's  hmnble  inn,  ''  The  Partridge,"  is 
typical  of  its  class  throughout  Italy.  It  is  in 
no  sense  a  very  comfortably  installed  establish- 
ment, but  it  is  better,  far  better,  than  the  same 


192     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

class  of  inn  in  England  and  America,  and  above 
all  its  cooking  is  better.  A  fowl  and  a  salad 
and  a  bottle  of  wine  and  some  gorgonzola  are 
just  a  little  better  at  "  La  Pernice  "  tlian  the 
writer  remembers  to  have  eaten  elsewhere 
under  similar  conditions. 

Tourists  now  come  by  dozens  by  road  and 
rail  to  Subiaco  —  with  a  preponderance  of  ar- 
rivals by  road  —  whereas  a  few  years  ago  only 
a  few  venturesome  artists  and  other  lovers  of 
the  open  knew  its  charms.  Some  day  of  course 
this  charm  will  be  gone,  but  it  is  still  lingering 
on  and,  if  you  do  not  put  on  too  great  a  pre- 
tense, you  will  get  the  same  good  cheer  at  five 
francs  a  day  at ' '  The  Partridge  ' '  whether  you 
arrive  in  a  Mercedes  or  come  as  the  artist  does, 
white  umbrella  and  canvases  slung  across  your 
back.  The  proprietor  of  "  La  Pernice  "  has 
not  as  yet  succumbed  to  exploiting  his  clients. 

From  Subiaco  back  to  Rome  via  Tivoli  is 
seventy  kilometres  and  all  down  hill. 

One  can  have  no  complete  idea  of  Roman  life 
without  an  acquaintance  with  the  villas  and 
palaces  of  Frascati  and  Tivoli.  Tivoli  was  the 
summer  resort  of  the  old  Romans.  Mecenate, 
Horace,  Catullus  and  Hadrian  built  villas  there 
and  enjoyed  it,  though  in  a  later  day  it  was 
reviled  thus : 


Villa   d'Este,    Tivoli 


The  Campagna  and  Beyond       193 

Tivoli  di  mal  conforto  —  0  piove,  o  lira  vento,  o  suona 
a  morto ! 

Tivoli  may  be  said  to  have  received  its  boom 
under  the  Roman  nobles  of  the  Augustan  age 
who  came  here  and  set  the  fashion  of  the  place 
as  a  country  residence.  Things  prospered  be- 
yond expectations,  it  would  seem,  land  agents 
being  modest  in  those  days,  and  by  the  time  of 
Hadrian  reached  their  luxurious  climax. 

Pope  Pius  II  founded  Tivoli 's  citadel  on  the 
site  of  an  already  ruined  amphitheatre  in  1460. 
The  Villa  d'Este  at  Tivoli,  built  by  the  Cardi- 
nal Ippolito  d'Este  in  1549,  is  usually  considered 
the  most  typical  suburban  villa  in  Italy.  The 
house  itself  is  an  enormous  pile,  on  one  side 
being  three  stories  higher  than  on  the  other. 
It  is  a  terrace  house  in  every  sense  of  the  word. 
Statuary,  originally  dug  up  from  Hadrian's 
villa,  once  embellished  the  house  and  grounds 
to  a  greater  extent  than  now,  but  under  the 
regime  of  late  years  many  of  these  pieces  have 
disappeared.  Wlierel  The  palace  itself  is 
comparatively  a  modest,  dignified  though  ex- 
tensive structure,  the  views  from  its  higher 
terraces  stretching  out  far  over  the  distant 
campagna. 

Hadrian's  Villa,  with  its  magnificent  grounds, 
occupies  an  area  of  vast  extent.    According  to 


194     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

Spartian,  Hadrian,  in  the  second  century  b.  c, 
built  this  marvel  of  architecture  and  landscape 
gardening  according  to  a  fond  and  luxurious 
fancy  which  would  have  been  inconceivable  by 
any  other  who  lived  at  his  time.    All  its  great 


extent  of  buildings  have  suffered  the  stress  of 
time,  and  some  even  have  entirely  disappeared, 
as  a  considerable  part  of  the  later  monuments 
of  Tivoli  were  built  up  from  their  stones. 
Many  of  its  art  treasures  were  removed  to  dis- 
tant points,  many  found  their  ways  into  public 
and  private  museums,  and  many  have  even  been 
transported  to  foreign  lands.  The  Italian  gov- 
ernment has  now  stopped  all  this  by  purchasing 
the  site  and  making  of  it  a  national  monument. 
With  Hadrian's  Villa  is  connected  a  sad  re- 


The  Campagna  and  Beyond        105 

memb ranee.  Pirauesi,  that  accomplislied  and 
erratic  draughtsman  whose  etchings  and  draw- 
ings of  Roman  monmnents  have  delighted  an 
admiring  world,  died  as  a  result  of  overwork 
in  connection  with  a  series  of  measured  draw- 
ings he  was  making  of  this  great  memorial  of 
Rome's  globe-trotting  Emperor. 


CHAPTER   XI 


LA  BELLA   NAPOLI 


[Ml 

PALAZZO   RCAUD 
Dl  CAPODIMONTt 


NAPLES 

•<A»TCL  SAirfTeUMO 


duOmo 
[musco  na3lionauc 


IPAC.MAOOALON) 


vrLXA  OCk  PoPOuo. 


South  from  Rome  the  highroad  to  Naples, 
and  on  down  into  Calabria,  at  first  follows  the 
old  Appian  Way,  built  by  Appius  Claudius  in 
312  B.  c.  It  is  a  historic  highway  if  there  ever 
was  one,  from  its  commencement  at  Rome's  an- 
cient Porta  Capuana  (now  the  Porta  San  Se- 

196 


La  Bella  Napoli  197 

bastiano)  to  Capua.  As  historic  ground  it  has 
been  excavated  and  the  soil  turned  over  many, 
many  times  until  it  would  seem  as  though  noth- 
ing would  be  left  to  discover.  Enough  has  been 
found  and  piled  up  by  the  roadside  to  make  the 
thoroughfare  a  continuous  "  sight  "  for  many 
kilometres.  Great  churches,  tombs,  vineyards, 
cypress-wind-breaks  and  the  arches  of  the 
Claudian  aqueducts  line  its  length,  and  if  the 
automobilist  is  so  minded  he  can  easily  put  in 
a  day  doing  the  first  twenty  kilometres. 

Velletri,  thirty-six  kilometres  from  Rome,  is 
the  first  town  of  importance  after  passing  Al- 
bano,  practically  suburban  Rome. 

Cisterna  di  Roma,  a  dozen  kilometres  further 
on,  is  a  typical  hill  top  town  overlooking  the 
Pontine  Marshes  below. 

Terracina,  on  the  coast,  sixty-two  kilometres 
beyond  Velletri,  is  the  border  town  between  the 
north  and  the  south,  practically  the  limit  be- 
tween the  extent  of  the  Papal  power  and  that 
of  the  kingdom  of  Naples. 

Terracina  sits  at  sea-level,  and  in  all  proba- 
bility it  is  none  too  healthy  an  abode,  though 
ten  thousand  souls  call  it  home  and  seem  con- 
tent. It  has  a  sea-view  that  would  make  the 
reputation  of  a  resort,  and  the  French  and  Ital- 
ian Touring  Clubs  recommend  the  Hotel  Royal, 


198     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

while  the  local  druggist  sells  gasoline  and  oil 
to  automobile  tourists  at  fair  rates  —  for  Italy. 

At  Formia  one  may  turn  off  the  direct  road 
and  in  half  a  dozen  kilometres  come  to  the  coast 
again  at  Gaeta,  The  road  from  Formia  runs 
through  a  picture  paradise,  and  an  unspoilt  one, 
considering  it  from  the  artist's  point  of  view. 
Little  more  shall  be  said,  though  indeed  it  is 
not  as  at  Sorrento  or  Capri,  but  quite  as  good 
in  its  way,  and  the  Albergo  della  Querela,  at 
Formia,  is  not  as  yet  overrun  with  a  clientele 
of  any  sort.  This  is  an  artists'  sketching 
ground  that  is  some  day  going  to  be  exploited 
by  some  one;  perhaps  by  the  artist  who  made 
the  pictures  of  this  book.    Who  knows? 

Over  another  fragment  of  the  Appian  Way 
the  highroad  now  continues  towards  Naples  via 
Capua. 

At  Capua  the  road  plunges  immediately  into 
a  maze  of  narrow  streets  and  one's  only  assur- 
ance of  being  able  to  find  his  exit  from  the  town 
is  by  employing  a  gamin  to  sit  on  the  running 
board  and  shout  destra  or  sinistra  at  each  turn- 
ing until  the  open  country  is  again  reached  at 
the  dividing  of  the  roads  leading  to  Caserta 
and  Naples  respectively. 

The  highroad  from  Capua  into  Naples  covers 
thirty  kilometres  of  as  good,  or  bad,  roadway 


La  Bella  Napoli  199 

as  is  usually  found  on  entering  a  great  city 
where  the  numerous  manifest  industries  serve 
to  furnish  a  traffic  movement  which  is  not  con- 
ducive to  the  upkeep  of  good  roads.  It  is  a 
good  road,  though,  in  parts,  but  the  nearer  you 
get  to  "  la  bella  Napoli  "  the  worse  it  becomes, 
as  bad,  almost,  as  the  roads  in  and  out  of  Mar- 
seilles or  Genoa,  and  they  are  about  the  worst 
that  exist  for  automobilists  to  revile. 

By  either  Averso  or  Caserta  one  enters  Na- 
ples by  the  rift  in  the  hills  lying  back  of  the 
observatory,  and  finally  by  the  tram-lined 
Strada  Forvia,  always  descending,  until  prac- 
tically at  sea-level  one  finds  a  garage  close  be- 
side the  Hotel  Royal  et  des  Etrangers  and 
lodges  himself  in  that  excellent  hostelry.  This 
is  one  way  of  doing  it;  there  are  of  course 
others. 

The  man  that  first  said  ''  Vedi  Napoli  e  poi 
mori!  "  didn't  know  what  he  was  talking  about. 
No  one  will  want  to  die  after  seeing  Naples. 
He  will  want  to  live  the  longer  and  come  again, 
if  not  for  Naples  itself  then  for  its  surround- 
ings, for  Pompeii,  Herculaneum,  Sorrento,  Ca- 
pri, Amalfi,  Vesuvius  and  Ischia.  Naples  itself 
will  be  a  good  place  at  which  to  leave  one's 
extra  luggage  and  to  use  as  a  mail  address. 

The  history  of  Naples  is  vast,  and  its  present 


200     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

and  historic  past  is  most  interesting,  but  for  all 
that  Naples  without  its  environs  would  be  as 
naught. 

The  local  proverb  of  old : 

"  When  Salerno  has  its  port 
Naples  will  be  mort  (dead)," 

has  no  reason  for  being  any  more,  for  Naples' 
future  as  a  Mediterranean  seaport  is  assured 
by  the  indefatigable  German  who  has  recently 
made  it  a  port  of  call  for  a  half  a  dozen  lines 
of  German  steamers.  Britain  may  rule  the 
waves,  but  the  German  is  fast  absorbing  the 
profitable  end  of  the  carrying  trade. 

Naples  is  a  crowded,  uncomfortable  city,  fpr 
within  a  circumference  of  scarce  sixteen  kilo- 
metres is  huddled  a  population  of  considerably 
more  than  half  a  million  souls. 

Naples'  chief  charms  are  its  site,  and  its  mag- 
nificently scenic  background,  not  its  monuments 
or  its  people. 

''  The  lazzaroni,"  remarked  Montesquieu  of 
the  Neapolitan  ''  won't-works,"  "  pass  their 
time  in  the  middle  of  the  street."  This  obser- 
vation was  made  many,  many  years  ago,  but  it 
is  equally  true  to-day. 

Naples  is  not  the  only  Italian  city  where  one 
sees  men  live  without  apparent  means  of  ex- 


La  Bella  Napoli  201 

istence,  but  it  is  here  most  to  be  remarked.  On 
the  quays  and  on  the  promenades  you  see  men 
and  women  without  work,  and  apparently  with- 
out ambition  to  look  for  it  save  to  exploit 
strangers.  On  the  steps  of  the  churches  you  see 
men  and  women  without  legs,  arms  or  eyes,  and 
infants  sans  chemises,  and  they,  too,  live  by  the 
same  idle  occupation  of  asking  for  alms. 

Everywhere  at  Naples,  before  your  hotel, 
crowded  around  your  carriage  or  automobile, 
or  paddling  around  in  boats  just  over  your 
steamer's  side,  are  hoards  of  beggars  of  all 
sorts  and  conditions  of  poverty  and  probity. 
The  beggar  population  of  Naples  is  doubtless 
of  no  greater  proportions  than  in  Genoa,  or 
even  Rome,  but  it  is  more  in  evidence  and  more 
insistent.  There  are  singing  beggars,  lame, 
halt  and  blind  beggars,  whining  beggars,  swim- 
ming beggars,  diving  beggars,  flower-selling 
beggars  and  just  plain  he g gars.  Give  to  one 
and  you  will  have  to  give  to  all  —  or  stand  the 
consequences,  which  may  be  serious  or  not  ac- 
cording to  circumstances.  Don't  disburse  ster- 
ilized charity,  then,  but  keep  hard-hearted. 

Naples'  chief  sights  for  the  tourists  are  its 
museum,  its  great  domed  galleries  and  their 
cafes  and  restaurants,  its  Castello  dell'  Ovo 
and  the  Castel  del  Carmine. 


202     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

The  Castello  dell'  Ovo  is  out  in  the  sea,  at 
the  end  of  a  tiny  bridge  or  breakwater,  running 
from  the  Pizzofalcone,  one  of  the  slopes  of  the 
background  hills  of  Naples  running  down  to 
sea-level. 

As  a  fortress  the  Castello  dell'  Ovo  is  out- 
ranked to-day  by  the  least  efficient  in  any  land, 
but  one  of  the  Spanish  Viceroys,  in  1532,  Don 
Pedro  of  Toledo,  thought  it  a  stronghold  of 
prime  importance,  due  entirely  to  its  oval 
shape,  which  it  preserves  unto  to-day.  It  is 
unique,  in  form  at  any  rate. 

Charles  VIII  of  France,  on  his  memorable 
Italian  journeyings  —  when  he  discovered  (sic) 
the  Renaissance  architecture  of  Italy  and 
brought  it  back  home  with  him  —  dismantled 
the  castle  and  left  it  in  its  now  barrack-like 
condition,  shorn  of  any  great  distinction  save 
the  oval  shape  of  its  donjon.  One  is  bound  to 
remark  this  noble  monument  as  it  is  from  its 
quay  that  one  embarks  on  the  cranky,  little, 
wobbling  steamboat  which  bears  one  to  Capri. 
Lucullus,  who  had  some  reputation  as  a  good 
liver,  once  had  a  villa  here  on  the  very  quay 
which  surrounds  the  Castello. 

Opposite  the  Villa  del  Popolo  (near*the  Porta 
del  Carmine),  the  People's  Park  as  we  should 
call  it,  is  a  vast,  forbidding,  unlovely  structure. 


S     '\! 


i-itiilmk\h;m  itiy 


o 


t3 

Co 


La  Bella  Napoli  203 

It  was  built  in  1484  by  Ferdinand  I,  but  dur- 
ing Masaniello's  little  disturbance  it  became  a 
stronghold  of  the  people.  To-day  it  serves  as 
a  barracks  —  and  of  course  as  a  military 
prison;  all  nondescript  buildings  in  Italy  may 
be  safely  classed  as  military  prisons,  though 
indeed  the  Italian  soldiery  do  not  look  an  un- 
ruly lot. 

It  is  well  to  recall  here  that  Masaniello,  who 
gave  his  name  to  an  opera  as  well  as  being  a 
patriot  of  the  most  rabid,  though  revolutionary, 
type,  failed  of  his  ambition  and  died  through 
sheer  inability  to  keep  awake  and  sufficiently 
free  from  anxiety  to  carry  out  his  plans.  Ma- 
saniello lost  his  head  toward  the  end  and  got 
untrustworthy,  but  this  was  far  from  justify- 
ing either  his  murder  or  the  infamous  treat- 
ment of  his  body  immediately  after  death  by 
the  very  mob  that  the  day  before  had  adored 
him.  His  headless  trunk  was  dragged  for  sev- 
eral hours  through  the  mud,  and  was  flung  at 
nightfall,  like  the  body  of  a  mad  dog,  into  the 
city  ditch.  Next  day,  through  a  revulsion  of 
feeling,  he  was  canonized!  His  corpse  was 
picked  out  of  the  ditch,  arrayed  in  royal  robes, 
and  buried  magnificently  in  the  cathedral.  His 
fisherman's  dress  was  rent  into  shreds  to  be 
preserved  by  the  crowd  as  relics;   the  door  of 


204     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

his  hut  was  pulled  off  its  hinges  by  a  mob  of 
women,  and  cut  into  small  pieces  to  be  carved 
into  images  and  made  into  caskets;  while  the 
very  ground  he  had  walked  on  was  collected  in 
small  phials  and  sold  for  its  weight  in  gold  to 
be  worn  next  the  heart  as  an  amulet. 

The  ''  Villas  "  of  Naples  are  often  mere 
maisons  bourgeoises  of  modern  date.  Many  of 
them  might  well  be  in  Brixton  so  far  as  their 
architectural  charms  go. 

Over  in  the  Posilippo  quarter,  a  delightful 
situation  indeed,  are  innumerable  flat-topped, 
whitewashed  villas,  so-called,  entirely  unlovely, 
all  things  considered.  One  of  these,  the  Villa 
Rendel,  was  once  inhabited  by  Garibaldi,  as 
a  tablet  on  its  wall  announces. 

Garibaldi  and  the  part  that  he  and  his  red 
shirt  played  are  not  yet  forgotten.  Apropos 
of  this  there  is  a  famous  lawsuit  still  in  the 
Italian  courts,  wherein  the  Garibaldian  Colonel 
Cornacci,  in  accord  with  Ricciotti  Garibaldi, 
son  of  the  general,  makes  the  following  claim 
against  the  Italian  government: 

I.  All  the  ''  tresor  '^  (gold  and  silver)  of  the 
house  of  Bourbon. 

II.  Eleven  millions  of  ducats  taken  from  the 
Garibaldian  government  at  Naples. 


La  Bella  Napoli  205 

III.  The  Bourbon  museum  now  incorporated 
with  the  National  Museum. 

IV.  The  Palace  of  Caserta  and  its  park. 

V.  The  Palace  Farnese  at  Rome. 

VI.  The  Palace  and  Villa  Farnese  at  Capra- 
rola  at  Naples. 

VII.  Two  Villas  at  Naples,  Capodimonte  and 
La  Favorita. 

This  is  the  balance  sheet  discrepancy  result- 
ing from  the  war  of  1860  which  the  Garibaldian 
heirs  claim  is  theirs  by  rights.  It's  a  mere  bag- 
atelle of  course !  One  wonders  why  the  Italian 
government  don't  settle  it  at  once  and  be  done 
with  it ! 

Naples  is  the  birth-place  of  Poliohinelle,  as 
Paris  is  of  Pierrot,  two  figures  of  fancy  which 
will  never  die  out  in  literature  or  art,  a  tender 
expression  of  sentiment  quite  worthy  of  being 
kept  alive. 

The  Neapolitan,  en  fete,  is  quite  the  equal  in 
gayety  and  irresponsibility  of  the  inhabitant  of 
Seville  or  Montmartre.  The  processionings  of 
any  big  Italian  town  are  a  thing  which,  once 
seen,  will  always  be  remembered.  At  Naples 
they  seem  a  bit  more  gorgeous  and  spontaneous 
in  their  gayety  than  elsewhere,  with  rugs  and 
banners  floating  in  the  air  from  every  balcony, 


206     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

and  flowers   falling  from   every  hand.     It  is 
every  man's  carnival,  the  celebration  at  Naples. 

Leading  out  to  the  west,  back  of  Posilippo,  is 
the  Strada  di  Piedigrotta,  which  is  continued 
as  the  Grrotto  Nuovo  di  Posilipo,  and  through 
which  runs  a  tramway,  all  kinds  of  animal- 
drawn  wheeled  traffic,  and  automobiles  with 
open  exhausts.  All  this  comports  little  with 
the  fact  that  the  ancient  tunnelled  road  along 
here  was  one  of  the  marvels  of  engineering  in 
the  time  of  Augustus  and  that  it  led  to  Virgil's 
tomb.  This  supposed  tomb  of  Virgil  is  ques- 
tioned by  archaeologists,  but  that  doesn't  much 
matter  for  the  rest  of  us.  We  know  that  Virgil 
himself  has  said  that  it  was  here  that  he  com- 
posed the  ' '  Georgics  ' '  and  the  ' '  ^neid, ' '  and 
it  might  well  have  been  his  last  resting-place 
too. 

''  Addio,  mia  bella  Napoli!    Addip!  " 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE   BEAUTIFUL    BAY   OP    NAPLES 

**  See  Naples  and  die  "  is  all  very  well  for 
a  sentiment,  but  when  we  first  saw  it,  many- 
years  ago,  it  was  under  a  grim,  grey  sky,  and 
its  shore  front  was  washed  by  a  milky-green 
fury  of  a  sea. 

Fortunately  it  is  not  always  thus;  indeed  it 
is  seldom  so.  On  that  occasion  Vesuvius  was 
invisible,  and  Posilippo  in  dim  relief.  What  a 
contrast  to  things  as  they  usually  are !  Still, 
Naples  and  its  Bay  are  no  phenomenal  won- 
ders. Suppress  the  point  of  view,  the  focus  of 
Virgil,  of  Horace,  of  Tiberius  and  of  Nero,  and 
the  view  of  "  Alger  la  Blanche,"  or  of  Mar- 
seilles and  its  headlands,  is  quite  as  beautiful. 
And  the  Bay  of  Naples  is  not  so  beautifully 
blue  either;  the  Bai  de  la  Ciotat  in  Maritime 
Province  is  often  the  same  colour,  and  has  a 
nearby  range  of  jutting,  jagged,  foam-lashed 
promontories  that  are  all  that  Capri  is  —  all 
but  the  grotto. 

207 


208     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 


The  Beautiful  Bay  of  Naples      209 

The  Bay  of  Naples  has  its  moods,  and  there 
are  times  when  its  blueness  is  more  apparent 
than  at  others;  in  short  there  are  times  when 
it  looks  more  beautiful  than  at  others,  and  then 
one  is  apt  to  think  its  charms  superlative. 

The  praises  of  the  ravishing  beauty  of  the 
Bay  of  Naples  have  been  sung  by  the  poets  and 
told  in  prose  ever  since  the  art  of  writing  travel 
impressions  has  been  known,  but  though  the 
half  may  not  have  been  told  it  were  futile  to 
reiterate  what  one  may  see  for  himself  if  he 
will  only  come  and  look.  "  A  piece  of  heaven 
fallen  to  earth,"  Sannazar  has  said,  and  cer- 
tainly no  one  can  hope  to  describe  it  with  more 
glowing  praise. 

For  the  artist  the  whole  Neapolitan  coast- 
line, and  background  as  well,  is  a  riot  of  rain- 
bow colouring  such  as  can  hardly  be  found  else- 
where except  in  the  Orient.  It  is  not  only  that 
the  Bay  of  Naples  is  blue,  but  the  greys  and 
drabs  of  the  ash  and  cinders  of  Vesuvius  seem 
to  accentuate  all  the  brilliant  reds  and  yellows 
and  greens  of  the  foliage  and  housetops,  not 
forgetting  the  shipping  of  the  little  ports  and 
the  costuming  of  land-lubbers  and  sailor-men, 
and  of  course  the  women.  The  Italian  women, 
young  or  old,  are  possessed  of  about  the  love- 


210     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

liest  colouring  of  any  of  the  fair  women  of  the 
twentieth  century  portrait  gallery. 

The  environs  of  Naples  have  two  plagues 
which,  when  they  rise  in  their  wrath,  can 
scarcely  be  avoided.  One  is  the  sirocco,  that 
dry,  stiff  wind  which  blows  along  the  Mediter- 
ranean coast  in  summer,  coming  from  the  Afri- 
can shore  and  the  desert  beyond,  and  the  much 
worse,  or  at  least  more  dreaded,  aria  cattiva, 
which  is  supposed  to  blow  the  sulphurous  gases 
and  cinders  of  Vesuvius  down  the  population's 
throats,  and  does  to  a  certain  extent. 

Out  beyond  Posilippo,  which  itself  is  prop- 
erly enough  bound  up  with  the  life  of  Naples, 
lies  Pouzzoles.  The  excursion  is  usually  made 
in  half  a  day  by  carriage,  and  automobilists 
have  been  known  to  do  it  in  half  an  hour.  The 
former  method  is  preferable,  though  the  auto- 
mobilist  is  free  from  the  rapacious  Neapolitan 
cab  driver  and  that's  a  good  deal  in  favour  of 
the  new  locomotion.  If  only  automobilists  as 
a  class  wouldn't  be  in  such  a  hurry! 

Pouzzoles  has  no  splendid  palaces  but  it  has 
the  remains  of  a  former  temple  of  Augustus  in 
the  shape  of  twelve  magnificent  Corinthian  col- 
umns, built  into  the  Cathedral  of  Saint  Procule, 
and  some  remains  of  another  shrine  dedicated 
to  Serapis.    There  are  also  the  ruins  of  Cicero's 


The  Beautiful  Bay  of  Naples      211 

villa  at  Baies,  a  little  further  on.  Mont  Gauro, 
where  the  '^  rough  Falernian  "  wine,  whose 
praises  were  sung  by  Walter  de  Mapes,  comes 
from,  shelters  the  little  village  on  one  side  and 
Mont  Nuovo  on  the  other,  this  last  a  mountain 
or  hillock  of  perhaps  a  hundred  and  fifty  metres 
in  height,  which  grew  up  in  a  night  as  a  result 
of  a  sixteenth  century  earthquake. 

The  Lake  of  Averno  is  nearby,  a  tiny  body 
of  water  whose  name  and  fame  are  celebrated 
afar,  but  which  as  a  lake,  properly  considered, 
hardly  ranks  in  size  with  the  average  mill-pond. 
With  a  depth  of  some  thirty  odd  metres  and  a 
circumference  of  three  kilometres  its  charms 
were  sufficient  to  attract  Hannibal  thither  to 
sacrifice  to  Pluto,  and  Virgil  there  laid  the 
''  Descent  into  Purgatory."  Agrippa,  with  an 
indomitable  energy  and  the  help  of  twenty 
thousand  slaves,  made  it  into  a  port  great 
enough  to  shelter  the  Roman  fleet.  At  Baies 
there  is  a  magnificent  feudal  work  in  the  form 
of  a  fortress-chateau  of  Pedro  of  Toledo 
(1538). 

At  the  tiny  port  of  Torregaveta,  just  beyond, 
one  takes  ship  for  Procida  and  Ischia,  two 
islands  often  neglected  in  making  the  round  of 
Naples  Bay. 

Procida,  off  shore  three  or  four  kilometres, 


212     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

and  with  a  length  of  about  the  same,  has  a 
population  of  fifteen  thousand,  most  of  whom 
rent  boats  to  visitors.  Competition  here  being 
fierce,  prices  are  reasonable  —  anything  you 
like  to  pay,  provided  you  can  clinch  the  bargain 
beforehand. 

Ischia  is  twice  the  size  of  Procida,  twice  the 
distance  from  the  mainland  and  has  twice  the 
population  of  the  latter.  One  might  say,  too, 
that  it  is  twice  as  interesting.  It  is  a  vast  pyra- 
mid of  rock  dominated  by  a  chateau-fort  dating 
from  1450.  It  looks  almost  unreal  in  its  im- 
pressiveness,  and  since  it  is  of  volcanic  growth 
the  island  may  some  day  disappear  as  suddenly 
as  it  came.  Such  is  the  fear  of  most  of  the 
population. 

A  quick  round  south  from  Naples  can  be 
made  by  following  the  itinerary  below.  It  can 
be  done  in  a  day  or  a  week,  but  in  the  former 
case  one  must  be  content  with  a  cinemato- 
graphic reminiscence. 


Naples  —  Portici 

Resina  —  Herculaneum 

Torre  del  Greco 

Torre  Anunziata 

Castellamare 

Sorrento 

Meta  —  Positano 

Amalfi 


4.8  Kilometres 

6.3 

(( 

9.4 

<t 

16.6 

K 

24.5 

tt 

42.9 

it 

59.8 

tt 

70,1 

ti 

I schia 


The  Beautiful  Bay  of  Naples      213 


Salerno 
Naples 


94.7    Kilometres 
144.6 


Some   one  has   said   that  Vesuvius   was  a 
vicious  boil  on  the  neck  of  Naples.    There  is 


=-        -i     ^  P  I   £  S 


Gf  Vesuvius 


not  much  sentiment  in  the  expression  and  little 
delicacy,  but  there  is  much  truth  in  it.  Still, 
if  it  were  not  for  Vesuvius  much  of  the  charm 
and  character  of  the  Bay  of  Naples  and  its 
cadre  would  be  gone  for  ever. 

All  around  the  base  of  the  great  cone  are  a 
flock  of  little  half-baked,  lava-burned  villages, 
as  sad  as  an  Esquimaux  settlement  in  the  great 


214     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

lone  land.  This  is  the  way  they  strike  one  as 
places  to  live  in,  though  the  artist  folk  find  them 
picturesque  enough,  it  is  true,  and  a  poet  of 
the  Dante  type  would  probably  get  as  much 
inspiration  here  as  did  Alighieri  from  the  In- 
ferno. 

It  has  been  remarked  before  now  that  Italy 
is  a  birdless  land.  The  Renaissance  poets  sang 
differently,  but  judging  from  the  country  im- 
mediately neighbouring  upon  Vesuvius,  and 
Calabria  to  the  southward,  one  is  inclined  to 
join  forces  with  the  first  mentioned  authority. 
Not  even  a  carrion  crow  could  make  a  living 
in  some  parts  of  southern  Italy. 

So  desolate  and  lone  is  this  sparsely  popu- 
lated region  towards  the  south  that  it  is  about 
the  only  part  of  Italy  where  one  may  hope  to 
encounter  the  brigand  of  romance  and  fiction. 

The  thing  is  not  imheard  of  to-day,  but  what 
brigands  are  left  are  presumably  kidnappers 
for  political  purposes  who  wreak  their  ven- 
geance on  some  official.  The  stranger  tourist 
goes  free.  He  is  only  robbed  by  the  hotel  keep- 
ers and  their  employees  who  think  more  of 
huona  mano  than  anything  else.  A  recent  ac- 
count (1907),  in  an  Italian  journal,  tells  of  the 
adventures  of  the  master  of  ceremonies  at  Vic- 
tor Emmanuel's  court  who  was  captured  by 


The  Beautiful  Bay  of  Naples      215 

baudits  and  imprisoned  in  a  cave  in  that  terra 
incognita  back  of  Vesuvius  away  from  the 
coast. 

Newspaper  accounts  are  often  at  variance 
with  the  facts,  but  these  made  thrilling  reading. 
One  account  said  that  the  kidnappers  tore  out 
the  Marquis's  teeth,  one  by  one,  in  order  to 
force  him  to  write  a  letter  asking  for  ransom. 
As  he  still  refused,  lights  were  held  to  the  soles 
of  his  naked  feet. 

The  Marquis  was  lured  from  Naples  to  the 
neighbourhood  of  a  grotto  in  the  direction  of 
Vesuvius,  where  he  was  seized  by  the  brigand's 
confederates. 

"  I  was  seized  unexpectedly  from  behind," 
said  the  Marquis  in  his  version,  "  and  after  a 
sharp  struggle  with  my  unseen  assailants  was 
carried  down  into  the  grotto  with  Herculanean 
force  and  tightly  bound. 

^'  Then,  liberating  my  right  arm,  the  brig"- 
ands  fetched  a  lamp  and  writing  materials,  cov- 
ering their  faces  with  masks.  Threatening  me 
with  instant  death,  the  chief  forced  me  to  write 
a  letter  to  my  friends  demanding  that  money 
be  sent  me  forthwith.  At  the  same  time  he 
took  from  me  all  my  valuables  and  then  dis- 
appeared, leaving  me  a  prisoner  with  a  guard 
before  the  entrance  of  my  cave." 


216     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

The  adventure  ended  harmlessly  enough,  and 
whether  it  was  all  a  dream  or  not  of  course 
nobody  but  the  Marquis  knows.  At  any  rate 
it  has  quite  a  mediseval  ring  to  it. 

Pompeii  is  remarkable,  but  it  is  disappoint- 
ing.   All  that  is  of  real  interest  has  been  re- 


moved to  the  Naples  museum.  Without  its 
Forum  and  its  magnificent  temples  and  Vesu- 
vius as  a  toile  de  fond  Pompeii  would  be  a 
dreary  place  indeed  to  any  but  an  archaeologist. 
It  is  a  waste  of  time  to  view  any  restored  his- 
toric monument  where  modern  house  painters 
have  refurbished  the  old  half-obliterated  fres- 
coes. The  famous  Cave  Canem,  too,  the  only 
mosaic  that  remains  intact,  has  been  twice  re- 
moved from  its   original   emplacement.     Yes, 


The  Beautiful  Bay  of  Naples      217 

Pompeii  is  a  disappointment!    It  is  too  much, 
of  a  show-place ! 

The  most  notable  observation  to  be  made 
with  regard  to  the  admirable  architectural  de- 
tails of  Pompeii  is  that  they  are  all  on  a  dimin- 
utive scale.  The  colonnade  of  the  Forum,  for 
instance,  could  never  be  carried  out  on  the  mag- 
nificent scale  of  the  Roman  Forum,  and  indeed, 
when  modern  architects  have  attempted  to  re- 
produce the  faQade  of  a  tiny  pagan  temple,  as 
in  the  Elglise  de  la  Madeleine,  or  the  Palais 
Bourbon  at  Paris,  they  have  failed  misera- 
bly. 

The  rival  claims  of  the  Hotel  Suisse  and  the 
Hotel  Diomede  at  Pompeii  (to  say  nothing  of 
that  of  the  Albergo  del  Sol  opposite  the  en- 
trance to  the  Amphitheatre)  make  it  difficult 
for  the  stranger  to  decide  upon  which  to  bestow 
his  patronage. 

The  artists  go  to  the  Albergo  del  Sol,  which 
is  rough  and  uncomfortable  enough  from  many 
points  of  view,  and  the  tourists  of  convention 
go  to  one  of  the  other  two,  where  they  are 
"  exploited  "  a  bit  but  get  more  attention.  At 
any  one  of  these  hotels  one  can  hire  a  horse 
to  climb  up  the  cone  of  Vesuvius,  if  one  thinks 
he  would  like  such  rude  sport,  and  prices  are 
anything  he  will  pay,  about  five  or  six  francs, 


218     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

though  it  costs  another  two  francs  for  a  guide 
and  another  two  francs  for  the  ragamuffin  who 
follows  after  and  holds  the  horses  while  you 
explore  the  crater.  If  the  latter  was  blacking 
boots  in  New  York,  even  for  a  padrone,  at  five 
cents  a  shine,  he  would  make  more  money  and 
be  counted  out  of  the  robber  class.  As  it  is 
he  is  a  rank  impostor  and  needless  —  provided 
you  have  the  courage  to  refuse  his  services. 

The  contrast  between  Herculaneum  and  Pom- 
peii is  notable.  Herculanemn  was  buried  under 
thirty  metres  of  liquid  lava,  but  Pompeii  was 
buried  only  roof-high  under  cinders.  Hercu- 
laneum will  some  day  be  uncovered  to  the  ex- 
tent of  Pompeii,  and  then  it  is  probable  the 
world  will  have  new  marvels  at  which  to  won- 
der. 

The  rewards  from  the  excavation  of  Her- 
culaneum may  well  be  commensurate  with  the 
toil.  It  was  an  infinitely  more  important  place 
than  Pompeii,  which  was  only  a  little  country 
town  without  libraries  or  particularly  wealthy 
inhabitants.  Herculaneum,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  the  summer  resort  of  wealthy  Romans,  who 
spent  their  lives  in  adorning  their  beautiful 
villas  with  the  choicest  work  of  Greek  art. 
Pliny  said  that  they  had  a  mania  for  collecting 
Greek  silver  and  other  works  of  art,  and  at 


o 

o 


b> 


The  Beautiful  Bay  of  Naples      219 

prices  that  would  even  make  the  wealthiest  art 
connoisseurs  of  to-day  pause  for  thought.  Ag- 
rippina,  among  others,  had  her  villa  here.  Her- 
culaneum  remains  intact  and  undespoiled,  as 
it  was  more  than  eighteen  centuries  ago. 

From  Pompeii  to  Sorrento  via  Castellamare 
is  twenty-five  kilometres. 

Sorrento  is,  in  summer,  a  bathing  place  for 
such  of  the  Neapolitan  high-life  population  as 
are  not  able  to  get  far  away  from  home.  One 
properly  enough  attaches  no  importance  what- 
ever to  the  gay  life  of  the  boulevards,  the  cafes 
and  the  restaurants  of  Naples.  It  is  the  same 
thing  as  at  Rome,  Paris  and  London  over  again 
with  all  its  silly  flaneries,  but  here  at  Sorrento, 
or  across  the  peninsula  at  Amalfi,  life  is  less 
feverish  and  one  may  stroll  about  or  indeed  live 
free  and  tranquil  from  care  in  hotels,  less  luxu- 
rious no  doubt  than  those  of  the  Quai  Parthe- 
nope,  but  offering  a  sufficient  degree  of  com- 
fort to  make  them  agreeable  to  the  most  ex- 
acting. 

The  real  winter  birds  of  passage  only  alight 
here  for  a  period  of  three  or  four  weeks  in 
January  or  February.  After  that  it  is  delight- 
ful, except  for  the  short  period  when  it  is  given 
up  to  the  crowd  of  tourists  which  invariably 
comes  at  Easter. 


220     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

Sorrento  is  the  great  centre  for  all  tlie  charm- 
ing region  bordering  upon  the  southern  shore 
of  the  Bay  of  Naples.  It  is  at  once  the  city 
and  the  country.  Its  hotels  are  delightfully 
disposed  amid  flowering  gardens  or  on  a  ter- 
race overlooking  the  escarpments  of  the  rock- 
bound  coast.  Six  or  seven  francs  a  day,  or 
eight  or  ten,  according  to  the  class  of  estab- 
lishment one  patronizes,  and  one  finds  the  best 
of  simple  fare  and  comfort.  Eight  days  or  a 
fortnight  one  may  roam  about  the  neighbour- 
hood at  Sorrento,  from  Sant  Agatha  on  a 
nearby  height  to  Sejano  Castellamare,  Posi- 
tano,  Amalfi  and  finally  Capri.  There  is  hardly 
such  a  range  of  charming  little  towns  and  town- 
lets  to  be  found  elsewhere  in  all  the  world. 

Except  for  its  restricted  little  business  quar- 
ter the  houses  and  villas  of  Sorrento  are  dis- 
posed on  the  best  of  "  garden  city  "  plans. 
Again  a  plague  on  a  beauty  spot  must  be  ad- 
mitted: mosquitoes  will  all  but  devour  you 
here  between  mid- August  and  the  end  of  Octo- 
ber, The  only  safe-guard  is  to  paint  yourself 
with  iodine,  but  the  cure  is  as  bad  as  the  com- 
plaint. 

The  traveller  in  Italy  learns  of  course  to  be- 
ware of  coral,  of  white,  pink  and  milky  coloured 
coral.    We  had  been  afraid  to  even  look  at  such 


The  Beautiful  Bay  of  Naples      221 

ever  since  we  had  seen  it  being  made  by  the 
ton  in  Belgium  —  and  good  looking  ' '  coral  ' ' 
it  was. 

Once  the  artist  bought  a  string  of  the  real 
thing  at  Tabarka  in  Tunisia,  and  once  a  friend 
who  was  with  us  on  the  Riviera  di  Ponente 
bought  a  necklet  of  what  was  called  coral,  at 
an  outrageous  price,  of  a  wily  boatman.  It 
all  went  up  in  smoke  (accompanied  by  a  vile 
smell)  ultimately,  though  fortunately  it  was 
not  on  the  owner's  neck  at  the  time.  It  was 
an  injudicious  mixture  of  gun-cotton,  nitro- 
glycerine or  what  not.  It  wasn't  coral;  that 
was  evident. 

Now,  when  we  walk  out  at  Sorrento,  no  Grra- 
ziella,  her  shoulders  scintillating  with  ropes  of 
coral,  beguiles  us  into  buying  any  of  her  family 
heirlooms.  To  sum  up :  the  coral  which  is  sold 
to  tourists  is  often  false;  that  which  is  fished 
up  before  your  eyes  from  the  sea  is  always  so. 
Beware  of  the  coral  of  Sorrento  or  Capri. 

The  trip  to  Capri  is  of  course  included  in 
every  one's  itinerary  in  these  parts,  and  for 
that  reason  it  is  not  omitted  here,  though  in- 
deed the  famous  grotto  over  which  the  senti- 
mentally inclined  so  love  to  rave  has  little  more 
charm  than  the  same  thing  represented  on  the 
stage.    This  at  any  rate  is  one  man's  opinion. 


222     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

It  is  most  conveniently  reached  by  boat  from 
Sorrento. 

The  famous  retreat  of  Augustus  and  the 
scene  of  the  debauches  of  Tiberius  will  ever 
have  an  attraction  for  the  globe-trotter,  even 
though  its  romance  is  mostly  fictitious.  One 
may  gather  any  opinions  he  chooses,  and,  pro- 
vided he  gathers  them  on  the  spot  and  makes 
them  up  out  of  his  own  imaginings,  he  will  be 
content  with  Capri's  grotto;  only  he  mustn't 
take  the  guide-books  too  seriously. 

The  Blue  Grotto's  goddess  is  Amphitrite, 
and  if  any  one  catches  a  glimpse  of  her  tradi- 
tional scanty  draperies  swishing  around  a  cor- 
ner, let  him  not  be  misguided  into  following  her 
into  her  retreat.  If  he  does  the  sea  is  guar- 
anteed to  rise  and  close  the  orifice  so  that  he 
may  not  get  out  again  as  soon  as  he  might 
wish. 

In  that  case  one  must  wait  till  the  wind, 
which  has  veered  suddenly  from  east  to  west, 
comes  about  again  and  blows  from  the  south. 
Without  bringing  Amphitrite  into  the  matter 
at  all  it  sometimes  happens  that  visitors  enter- 
ing the  grotto  for  a  pleasant  half  hour  may  be 
obliged  to  stay  there  two,  three  or  even  five 
days.  The  boatmen-guides,  providing  for  such 
emergencies,  carry  with  them  a  certain  quantity 


The  Beautiful  Bay  of  Naples      223 

of  biscotti  with  which  to  sustain  their  victims. 
As  for  fresh  water  it  trickles  through  into  the 
grotto  in  several  places  in  a  sufficient  quantity 
to  allay  any  apprehensions  as  to  dying  of  thirst. 
One  might  well  blame  the  Capri  guides  for  not 
calling  the  visitor's  attention  to  these  things. 
But  if  one  is  reproached  he  simply  answers: 
"  Ma  che!  eccelenza,  if  we  should  call  attention 
to  this  thing,  half  the  would-be  visitors  would 
balk  at  the  first  step,  and  that  would  be  bad 
for  our  business." 

Alexandre  Dumas  tells  of  how  on  a  visit  to 
Capri  in  1835  the  fisherman  was  pointed  out 
to  him  who  had  ten  years  earlier  re-discovered 
the  Blue  Grotto  of  Augustus'  time,  whilst 
searching  for  mussels  among  the  rocks.  He 
went  at  once  to  the  authorities  on  the  island 
and  told  them  of  his  discovery  and  asked  for 
the  privilege  of  exploiting  visitors.  This  dis- 
coverer of  a  new  underground  world  was  able 
by  means  of  graft,  or  other  means,  to  put  the 
thing  through  and  lived  in  ease  ever  after, 
through  his  ability  to  levy  a  toll  on  other  guides 
to  whom  he  farmed  out  his  privilege. 

Quite  the  best  of  Capri  is  above  ground,  the 
isle  itself,  set  like  a  gem  in  the  waters  of  the 
Mediterranean.  The  very  natural  symphonic 
colouring  of  the  rocks  and  hillsides  and  roof- 


224     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

tops  of  its  houses,  and  indeed  the  costuming 
of  its  very  people,  make  it  very  beautiful. 

For  Amalfi,  Salerno  and  Paestum  the  auto- 
mobilist  must  retrace  his  way  from  Sorrento 
to  Castellamare,  when,  in  thirty  kilometres,  he 
may  gain  Amalfi,  and,  in  another  twenty-five, 
Salerno.  Paestum  and  its  temples,  to  many  the 
chief  things  of  interest  in  Italy,  the  land  of 
noble  monuments,  lie  forty  kilometres  away 
from  Salerno.  The  automobilist,  to  add  this 
to  his  excursion  out  from  Naples,  is  debarred 
from  making  the  round  in  a  day,  even  if  he 
would.  It  is  worth  doing  however;  that  goes 
without  saying,  though  the  attempt  is  not  made 
here  of  purveying  guide-book  or  historical  in- 
formation. If  you  don't  know  anything  about 
Paestum,  or  care  anything  about  it,  then  leave 
it  out  and  get  back  to  Naples  as  quickly  as  you 
can,  and  so  on  out  of  the  country  at  the  same 
rate  of  speed. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

ACROSS   UMBRIA   TO   THE   ADRIATIC 

The  mountain  district  of  Umbria,  a  country 
of  clear  outlines  against  pale  blue  skies,  is  one 
of  the  most  charming  in  the  peninsula  though 
not  the  most  grandly  scenic. 

The  highway  from  Rome  to  Ancona,  across 
Umbria,  follows  the  itinerary  of  one  of  the 
most  ancient  of  Roman  roads,  the  Via  Valeria. 
The  railway,  too,  follows  almost  in  the  same 
track,  though  each  leaves  the  Imperial  City, 
itself,  by  the  great  trunk  line  via  Salaria  and 
the  Valley  of  the  Tiber. 

Terni  is  the  great  junction  from  which  radi- 
ate various  other  lines  of  communication  to  all 
parts  of  the  kingdom.  Terni  is,  practically,  the 
geographical  centre  of  Italy.  It  is  a  bustling 
manufacturing  town  and,  supposedly,  the  In- 
teramna  where  Tacitus  was  born. 

From  Terni  one  reaches  Naples,  via  Avez- 
zano  in  257  kilometres;  Rome,  via  Civita  Cas- 

225 


226     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

tellana  in  94  kilometres ;  Florence  via  Perugia 
and  Arezzo  in  256  kilometres  and  Ancona,  on 
the  shores  of  the  Adriatic,  via  Foligno  in  209 
kilometres.  All  of  these  roads  run  the  gamut 
from  high  to  low  levels  and,  though  in  no  sense 
to  be  classed  as  mountain  roads,  are  sufficiently 
trying  to  even  a  modern  automobile  to  be 
classed  as  difficult. 

The  Cascades  of  Temi  used  to  be  one  of  the 
stock  sights  of  tourists,  a  generation  ago,  but, 
truth  to  tell,  they  are  not  remarkable  natural 
beauties,  and,  indeed,  are  too  apparently  arti- 
ficial to  be  admired.  Moreover  one  is  too  much 
"  exploited  "  in  the  neighbourhood  to  enjoy 
his  visit.  It  costs  half  a  lira  to  enter  by  this 
gate,  and  to  leave  by  that  road;  to  cross  this 
bridge,  or  descend  into  that  cavern ;  and  troops 
of  children  beg  soldi  of  you  at  every  turn.  The 
thing  is  not  worth  doing. 

Spoleto,  twenty-six  kilometres  away,  is  some- 
what more  interesting.  It  is  famous  for  the 
fine  relics,  which  still  exist,  of  its  more  mag- 
nificent days,  when,  242  b.  c,  it  was  named 
Spoletium. 

The  towers  of  Spoleto,  like  those  of  San  Gi- 
mignano  and  Volterra,  are  its  chief  glory; 
civic,  secular  and  churchly  towers,  all  blending 
into  one  hazy  mass  of  grim,  militant  power. 


Across  XTmbria  to  the  Adriatic     227 

The  Franciscan  convent,  on  the  uppermost 
height,  seems  to  guard  all  the  towers  below,  as 
a  shepherd  guards  his  flock,  or  a  mother  hen 
her  chickens. 

In  1499  the  equivocal,  enigmatic  Lucrezia 
Borgia  came  to  inhabit  the  castle  of  Spoleto. 
The  fair  but  unholy  Lucrezia  was  a  wandering, 
restless  being  who  liked  apparently  to  be  con- 
tinually on  the  move. 

Here,  in  the  fortress  of  Spoleto,  Lucrezia 
Borgia,  coming  straight  from  the  Vatican,  held 
for  a  brief  year  the  seals  of  the  state  in  her 
frail  hands,  her  father  at  the  time  being  gov- 
ernor. 

The  aspect  of  this  grim  fortress-chateau, 
grim  but  livable,  as  one  knows  from  the  his- 
torical accounts,  is  to-day,  so  far  as  outlines  are 
concerned,  just  as  it  was  five  centuries  ago.  It 
is  grandiose,  severe  and  majestic,  and  is  dom- 
inant in  all  the  landscape  round  about,  not  even 
its  mountain  background  dwarfing  its  propor- 
tions. The  military  defence  was  that  portion 
lying  lowest  down  in  the  valley,  while  the  resi- 
dence of  the  governor  was  in  the  upper  por- 
tion. One  reads  the  history  of  three  distinct 
epochs  in  its  architecture,  the  Gothic  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  that  of  the  sixteenth,  and  the 
later  interpolated  Kenaissance  decorations. 


228     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 


Through  Foligno  and  Assisi  runs  the  road 
to  Perugia.  Assisi  is  a  much  visited  shrine, 
but  Foligno  is  remembered  by  most  of  those 
who  have  travelled  that  way  only  as  a  grimy 
railway  junction. 

Assisi,  the  little  Umbrian  hill  town,  is  de- 


servedly the  popular  shrine  that  it  is.  Assisi 
is  a  religious  shrine,  but  its  skyline  silhouette 
is  more  like  that  which  properly  belongs  to  a 
warlike  stronghold.  The  city  of  St.  Francis  is 
loved  by  men  of  all  creeds  who  recall  the  story 
of  the  holy  man  who,  with  poverty  as  a  gar- 
ment, trod  his  long  way,  singing,  talking  to  the 
birds  and  succouring  all  who  were  sore  or 
heavy  laden. 

Immense   antiquity  is   suggested   by  every- 


Across  Umbria  to  the  Adriatic     229 

thing  round  about,  from  the  tombs  of  the 
Etruscan  Necropolis,  dating  from  150  b.  c, 
down  to  the  triple-storied  convent  church  of 
San  Francesco  of  1230  and  the  Basilica  of 
Santa  Maria  degli  Angeli  of  1509. 
The  now  secularized  convent  and  its  triple 


CJ^csTLEr  Church 


church  have  all  the  characteristics  of  a  medi- 
aeval fortress  when  viewed  from  afar. 

The  town  itself  owes  most,  if  not  all,  of  its 
fame  to  its  beloved  San  Francesco.  His  birth- 
place has  disappeared  and  its  site  occupied  by 
the  Chiesa  Nuova,  but  a  part  of  it  has  been 
built  into  the  church,  making  it  another  shrine 
of  the  holy  man  who  did  so  much  good  to  his 
fellows  during  his  life,  and  to  his  native  town 
in  these  late  days  by  bringing  tens,  nay,  even 


230     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

hundreds,  of  thousands  of  tourists  thither  to 
spend  their  money  on  local  guides,  cabmen  and 
innkeepers.  A  sordid  point  of  view  some  may 
think.  But  is  it?  What  would  Assisi  be  with- 
out the  tourists?  Still  wooing  the  Lady  Pov- 
erty, there's  no  doubt  about  that.  What  would 
Venice  be  without  the  tourists?  Not  what  it 
is  to-day.  No  indeed.  It  is  dead  and  dull 
enough  even  now  at  certain  seasons.  It  would 
become  so  for  all  time  without  the  strangers. 

Perugia  is  the  big  town  of  Umbria.  To-day 
it  boasts  of  twenty  odd  thousand  souls,  but  in 
the  days  when  it  struggled  against  papal  con- 
trol it  was  even  more  populous.  Its  history  is 
one  long  drawn  out  tale  of  revolt  and  submis- 
sion in  turn,  from  the  days  when  it  first  sub- 
mitted to  the  Romans  in  310  b.  c.  until  it  threw 
its  fate  in  with  that  of  the  other  states  of  Vic- 
tor Emmanuel  in  1860. 

If  ever  a  city  was  blood-baptized  that  honour 
is  Perugia's.  It  has  not  a  crooked  old  street 
nor  gate  nor  fountain  nor  piazza  or  palazzo 
but  what  is  gory  with  bloody  memories. 

Perugia  was  a  dominant  mediaeval  influence 
all  through  the  neighbourhood  and  levied  trib- 
ute on  all  her  vassal  cities  and  towns.  Folig- 
no's  walls  and  ramparts  had  fallen  and  the 
people  of  Perugia  came  and  carted  off  the  stone 


Architectural    Detail,    Perugia 


Across  Umbria  to  the  Adriatic     231 

for  their  own.  needs;  Arezzo  stripped  her 
churches  and  palaces  to  provide  the  marbles 
for  Perugia's  cathedral. 

Perugia's  oxen  are  famous  in  literature  and 
art,  but  they  have  almost  become  a  memory, 
though  an  occasional  one  may  be  seen  standing 
in  the  market  place  or  a  yoke  working  in  the 
nearby  fields.  Electric  cars  haul  passengers 
and  freight  about  the  city  at  a  death-dealing 
pace,  and  the  ox  as  a  beast  of  burden  is  out- 
distanced and  out-classed. 

The  ancient  civilization  is  represented  at  Pe- 
rugia by  a  remarkable  series  of  old  fortifica- 
tion walls,  still  admirably  conserved,  a  kilo- 
metre or  more  from  the  centre  of  town,  a 
necropolis  of  ten  chambers,  and  an  antique 
Eoman  arch  of  Augustus. 

Perugia's  lode  star  for  travellers  has  ever 
been  the  fact  that  it  was  the  centre  of  the  school 
of  Umbrian  painters.  This  is  not  saying  that 
it  has  no  architecture  worth  mentioning,  for 
the  reverse  is  the  case. 

Out  from  Perugia  by  the  Porta  di  Elce,  on 
the  Cortona  road,  one  passes  a  couple  of  im- 
posing edifices.  One,  from  a  distance,  looks 
grandly  romantic  and  mediaeval,  but  is  only  a 
base  modern  reproduction  in  cement  and  tim- 
ber —  and  for  all  the  writer  knows,  steel  beams 


232     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

as  well  —  of  an  ancient  feudal  castle.  The 
other  is  less  grand,  less  luxurious  possibly,  but 
is  the  very  ideal  of  an  Italian  country  house, 
habitable  to-day,  but  surrounded  with  all  the 
romantic  flavour  of  inediaevalism.  It  is  still 
called  the  Villa  of  the  Cardinal  by  virtue  of 
the  fact  that  Cardinal  Fulvio  della  Corgna 
built  it  in  1580.  Locally,  it  is  also  known  as 
the  Villa  Umberto,  and  it  belongs  to,  and  is 
inhabited  by,  the  family  of  Commendatore 
Ferdinando  Cesar oni.  Architecturally,  per- 
haps, the  villa  is  not  a  great  work,  but  it  is 
marvellously  satisfying  to  the  eye  by  reason 
of  its  disposition  and  its  outlook. 

Gubbio,  thirty-nine  kilometres  away  by  road, 
is  not  readily  accessible  by  rail  from  Perugia, 
though  on  the  direct  line  from  Arezzo,  Ancona 
and  Foligno. 

The  automobilist  may  reach  Gubbio  from 
Perugia  in  less  time  than  the  rail-tied  traveller 
may  check  his  baggage  and  take  his  place  in 
the  train. 

Not  many  include  Gubbio  in  their  Italian 
tours.  Its  Etruscan  lore  and  relics  have  been 
made  the  subject  of  volumes,  but  little  has  been 
done  to  set  forth  its  charms  for  the  Italian  pil- 
grim who  would  seek  to  get  away  from  the 
herding  crowds  of  the  great  cities  and  towns. 


'rr:'''     ^f^2:>;o     ^"""':'     ^ 


Palazzo    Ducal  e,     Urhino 


Across  Umbria  to  the  Adriatic     233 

Grubbio's  ducal  palace  is  moss  grown  and 
weedy,  so  far  as  its  rooftop  and  courtyard  are 
concerned,  but  it  is  a  very  warm  and  lively 
old  fabric  nevertheless,  and  those  that  love  his- 
toric old  shrines  will  find  much  here  that  they 
will  often  not  discover  in  a  well  restored,  highly 
furbished  monument  kept  frankly  as  a  show- 
place  for  throngs  of  trippers  who  cannot  tell 
old  bronze  from  new  copper,  or  wrought  iron 
from  font. 

The  hurly-burly  of  twentieth  century  life  has 
not  yet  reached  Gubbio,  and  that  is  why  it 
presents  itself  to  the  visitor  within  its  walls  in 
such  agreeable  fashion. 

Off  in  the  Marches,  sixty-five  kilometres 
from  Gubbio,  is  the  little  town  of  Urbino.  It 
has  a  Palazzo  Ducale  most  remarkable  in  its 
architecture  and  its  emplacement.  It  was  be- 
gun in  1648  by  Frederigo  di  Montefeltro,  on 
the  site  of  a  former  palace  of  a  century  before. 
The  apartments  within  are  not  merely  the  halls 
of  a  museum,  but  are  remarkably  interesting 
and  livable  mediaeval  apartments,  and  to-day 
are  much  as  they  were  in  the  days  of  the  gal- 
lant dukes,  one  of  whom,  Guidobaldo  II,  was 
a  poet  himself  and  a  patron  of  letters  who  gave 
his  protection  to  the  last  Italian  poet  whose 
fame  was  European  —  Torquato  Tasso. 


234     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

Urbino,  too,  was  the  birthplace  of  him  whom 
we  know  familiarly  as  Eaphael,  though  curi- 
ously enough  the  local  museum  contains  but  a 
single  example  of  his  work,  and  that  a  drawing 
of  ''  Moses  in  the  Bulrushes." 

Urbino 's  chief  *'  sight,"  though  it  is  not 
beautiful  in  itself,  is  the  birthplace  of  Raphael, 
situated  in  a  little  street  running  off  from  near 
the  ducal  palace,  a  street  which  mounts  heaven- 
ward so  steeply  that  it  was  formerly  called  the 
Via  del  Monte.  The  authorities,  in  an  effort 
to  keep  up  with  popular  taste,  have  recently 
changed  the  name  to  Via  Raffaello. 

It  is  a  mean,  simple  and  grim  looking  little 
house,  not  at  all  beautiful  according  to  palatial 
standards.  On  the  6th  of  April,  1483,  its  fame 
began,  but  pilgrims  have  only  in  recent  years 
come  to  bow  down  before  it.  Nevertheless 
popes  and  prelates  and  princes  came  here  to  sit 
to  the  ''  painter  of  Urbino  "  and  have  left  an 
added  distinction  to  the  house.  Muzio  Oddi, 
the  celebrated  architect  and  mathematician, 
caused  to  be  graven  the  following  on  its  fa- 
Qade : — 

"  Ludet  in  humanis  divina  potentia  rebus 
Et  saepe  in  parvis  claudre  magna  solet." 

A  tablet  marks  the  house  plainly.  It  will  not 
be  possible  to  miss  it. 


Across  Umbria  to  the  Adriatic     235 

Urbino  sits  high  above  the  surrounding  val- 
ley, twelve  or  fifteen  hundred  feet  above  sea 
level.  A  coach  of  doubtful  antiquity  formerly 
made  the  same  journey  as  that  covered  by  the 
railway  and  deposited  its  mixed  freight  of  trav- 
ellers and  inhabitants  in  one  of  the  most  splen- 
did of  the  Renaissance  cities  of  Italy.  Now, 
the  automobile  brings  many  more  tourists  than 
ever  before  came  by  coach,  or  railway  even, 
and  accordingly  Urbino  will  undoubtedly  be- 
come better  known. 

The  court  of  Urbino  in  the  sixteenth  century 
was  one  of  the  most  refined  and  learned  of  the 
courts  of  Italy,  and  therefore  of  the  world. 
Coryat  in  his  ''  Crudities,"  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  remarks  a  difference  between  English 
and  Italian  manners. 

^'  I  observed  a  custom  in  all  those  Italian 
cities  and  towns  through  which  I  passed,  that 
is  not  used  in  any  other  country  that  I  saw  in 
my  travels;  neither  do  I  think  that  any  other 
nation  of  Christendom  doth  use  it,  but  only 
Italy.  The  Italian,  and  also  most  strangers 
that  are  commorant  in  Italy,  do  always  at  their 
meals  use  a  little  fork  when  they  cut  their 
meat."  Is  it  that  the  fork  came  to  earth  as 
a  seventeenth  century  Italian  innovation? 

Urbino 's  Albergo  Italia  merits  the  sign  of 


236     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

the  crossed  knife  and  fork,  the  Automobile 
Club's  endorsement  of  good  food. 

One  of  the  classic  figures  of  medisBval  Urbino 
was  Oddantonio,  of  the  great  house  of  Monte- 
feltro,  who,  succeeding  to  the  dukedom  at  the 
age  of  fifteen,  fell  under  the  ill  control  of  the 
brilliant,  but  corrupt,  Sigismondo  Malatesta, 
of  Eimini. 

Thirty  five  kilometres  east  of  Urbino  lies  the 
blue  Adriatic,  perhaps  the  most  beautiful  of 
all  the  Italian  seas.  The  descent  from  four 
hundred  metres  at  Urbino  to  sea  level  is  grad- 
ual and  easy,  but  it  is  a  steady  fall  that  is 
bound  to  be  remarked  by  travellers  by  road, 
with  the  sea  in  sight  for  the  major  part  of  the 
way. 

One  comes  to  the  Adriatic  shore  at  Pesaro, 
midway  on  the  coast  between  Ravenna  and  An- 
cona.  North  and  south,  from  the  Venetian 
boundary  to  the  rocky,  sparse-populated  shores 
of  Calabria,  flanking  upon  the  Ionian  sea,  is  a 
wonderland  of  little-travelled  highroad,  all  of 
it  a  historic  itinerary,  though  indeed  the  road 
is  none  of  the  best.  To  the  jaded  traveller, 
tired  of  stock  sights  and  scenes,  the  covering 
of  this  coast  road  from  Venice  to  Brindisi 
would  be  a  journey  worth  the  making,  but  it 
should  not  be  done  hurriedly. 


CHAPTEB   XIV 

BY  Adriatic's  shore 

The  Italian  shore  of  the  Adriatic  is  a  terra 
incognita  to  most  travellers  in  Italy,  save  those 
who  take  ship  for  the  east  at  Brindisi,  and 
even  they  arrive  from  Calais,  Paris  or  Ostende 
by  express  train  without  break  of  journey  en 
route. 

The  following  table  gives  the  kilometric  dis- 
tances of  this  shore  road  by  the  Adriatic, 
through  the  coast  towns  from  Otranto  in 
Pouilles  to  Chioggia  in  Venetia.  The  itinerary 
has,  perhaps,  never  been  made  in  its  entirety 
by  any  stranger  automobilist,  but  the  writer 
has  seen  enough  to  make  him  want  to  cover  its 
entire  length. 


Population 

Kilometres 

Otranto 

22.266 

0 

Lecce 

2,333 

40.4 

Brindisi 

16,719 

80 

Monopoli 

7,620 

151 

Ban 

58,266 
237 

193.3 

238     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 


• 

Population 

Kilometres 

Barletta 

31,194 

248.2 

Manfredonia 

8,324 

330 

Foggia 

14,067 

368.4 

Here  the  road  leaves  the  coast  but 

joins  again  at  Ortona. 

Isernia 

7,687 

526.7 

Ortona 

6,366 

673.5 

Pescara 

2,612 

694.3 

Ancona 

28,577 

849.7 

Pesaro 

12,547 

909.7 

Rimini 

10,838 

945.3 

Ravenna 

18,571 

995.3 

Ferrara 

28,814 

1,068.7 

Chioggia 

20,381 

1,160.5 

The  above  are  the  cold  figures  as  worked  out 
from  the  Road  Books,  Maps  and  Profiles  of 
the  Touring  Club  Italiano.  The  whole  forms 
a  rather  lengthy  itinerary  but,  in  part,  it  is 
within  the  power  of  every  automobilist  in  Italy 
to  make,  as  he  crosses  Umbria  from  Rome  to 
the  Adriatic,  by  including  that  portion  of  the 
route  between  Ancona  and  Chioggia.  This  cuts 
the  distance  to  the  more  reasonable  figure  of 
a  little  more  than  three  hundred  kilometres. 

Taranto,  Otranto  and  Bari  are  mere  place 
names  for  which  most  do  not  even  know  where 
to  look  on  the  map.  Conditions  of  life  were 
not  easy  or  luxurious  here  in  the  outposts  of 
the  western  empire,  and  the  influx  of  alien 
Greek  and  Turk  and  Jew  has  ever  tended  to 


By  Adriatic's  Shore  239 

change  the  Italian  colouring  to  one  almost  Ori- 
ental in  tone  and  brilliance. 

Brindisi  has  usually  been  considered  a  mere 
way  station  on  the  traveller's  itinerary,  where 
he  changes  train  for  boat.  But  it  is  more  than 
that.  It  was  the  ancient  Brentesion  of  the 
Greeks,  indeed  it  was  the  gateway  of  all  inter- 
course between  the  peninsula  and  the  Greece 
of  the  mainland  and  the  islands  of  ^gina. 

Virgil  died  here  on  his  return  from  Greece 
in  19  B.  c,  and  for  that  reason  alone  it  at  once 
takes  rank  as  one  of  the  world's  great  literary 
shrines.  But  who  ever  heard  of  a  literary  pil- 
grim coming  here ! 

Brindisi 's  Castello,  built  by  Ferdinand  II 
and  Charles  V,  still  overlooks  the  harbour  and, 
though  it  performs  no  more  the  functions  of  a 
fortress,  it  is  an  imposing  and  admirable  medi- 
aeval monument. 

Near  the  harbour  is  a  svelt  Greek  column 
with  a  highly  sculptured  capital  and  an  inscrip- 
tion to  the  memory  of  a  Byzantine  ruler  who 
built  up  the  city  anew  in  the  tenth  century, 
after  it  had  fallen  prey  to  the  Saracens.  This 
column,  too,  supposedly  marks  the  termination 
of  the  Appian  Way,  which  started  from  Rome 's 
Formii  and  wandered  across  the  Campagna 
and  on  to  this  eastern  outpost. 


240     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 


i.APPIAN4 


By  Adriatic's  Shore  241 

Bari,  like  Brindisi,  was  an  ancient  seaport. 
Horace  sang  its  praises,  or  rather  the  praises 
of  its  fish,  as  did  Petrarch  of  the  carp  at  Vau- 
cluse,  and  the  town  was  one  of  the  most  ancient 
bishoprics  in  Italy. 

From  the  tenth  to  the  fourteenth  century  the 
fate  of  the  town  was  ever  in  the  balance,  chan- 
ging its  allegiance  from  one  seigneur  to  another, 
who,  for  the  moment,  happened  to  be  the  more 
masterful.  In  the  fourteenth  century  it  became 
an  independent  Duchy,  and  in  1558  was  united 
with  the  kingdom  of  Naples. 

Bari's  Castello  was  built  in  1160  and,  like 
that  at  Brindisi,  is  of  that  grim  militant  aspect 
which  bespeaks,  if  not  deeds  of  romance,  at 
least  those  of  valour. 

In  the  Piazza  Mercanto  is  a  great  bronze 
lion  wearing  an  exaggerated  dog-collar  on 
which  is  inscribed  the  ''  Gustos  Justitise,"  the 
heraldic  motto  and  device  of  the  city. 

Manfredonia,  Termoli,  Ortona  and  Pescara 
are  all  of  them  charming  Adriatic  towns,  each 
and  all  possessed  of  vivid  reminders  of  the 
days  of  the  corsairs,  adventurers  and  pirate 
Saracen  hordes.  Their  battlemented  walls  and 
castles  still  exist  in  the  real,  and  little  of  twen- 
tieth century  progress  has,  as  yet,  made  its 


242     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

mark  upon  them.  Mythology,  history  and  ro- 
mance have  here  combined. 

Ancona  is  not  included  in  every  one's  Italian 
itinerary.  This  is  the  more  to  be  regretted  in 
that  it  is  very  accessible,  not  only  by  road  but 
by  rail  from  Ravenna  or  Perugia,  or  by  sea,  in 
eight  or  ten  hours,  from  Venice.  The  city  of 
fifty  thousand  inhabitants,  with  a  Ghetto  of 
six  thousand  Jews,  is  beautifully  situated  on 
an  amphitheatre  of  hills  overlooking  the  Adri- 
atic. The  mole  which  encloses  its  harbour  sup- 
ports two  triumphal  arches,  making  a  sort  of 
monumental  water-gate  unequalled  by  anything 
similar  in  all  the  world.  One  of  these  arches 
was  erected  by  the  Roman  Senate  in  122,  to  the 
honour  of  Trajan,  and  the  other  in  honour  of 
Pope  Clement  XII  in  1740. 

Trajan  undoubtedly  deserved  the  honour.  It 
was  he  who  was  the  first  to  hold  that  "  it  was 
better  a  thousand  guilty  persons  should  escape 
than  that  one  innocent  person  should  be  con- 
demned," When  he  appointed  Subarranus 
Captain  of  the  Guard,  he  presented  him,  ac- 
cording to  custom,  with  a  drawn  sword,  saying, 
as  he  handed  it,  these  memorable  words:  ^'  Pro 
me,  si  merear,  in  me  "  C  Use  this  sword  for 
me:  If  I  deserve  it,  against  me  ").  It  is  good 
to  know  that  men  like  these  may  have  memorial 


By  Adriatic's  Shore  243 

arches  as  well  as  mere  cut-throat  conquer- 
ors. 

Every  student  of  Italian  architecture  knows 
Piranesi's  drawing  of  the  famous  Trajan  arch 
at  Ancona.  It  was  more  truthful  than  many 
of  his  drawings  of  Roman  antiquities,  and 
might  indeed  have  been  made  in  these  latter 
years,  for  little  is  changed  on  Ancona 's  sea- 
front. 

There  is  at  Ancona  a  memory  of  Filippo 
Lippi,  a  monkish  draughtsman  of  great  ability, 
a  contemporary  of  the  better  known  Fra  An- 
gelico. 

Once  he  set  out  on  the  blue  waters  of  the 
Adriatic,  from  the  very  steps  below  the  Arch 
of  Trajan  where  the  waves  lap  to-day,  for  a 
little  sail.  Like  many  people  who  make  excur- 
sions in  boats,  he  was  unskilful,  and  worse,  for, 
drifting  out  to  sea,  he  was  in  due  time  picked 
up  by  a  Barbary  pirate  and  next  put  foot  on 
shore  in  Africa.  He  drew  the  pirate  chief's 
portrait  on  the  wall  of  his  prison,  and  in  spite 
of  the  interdiction  of  the  Koran,  the  Moor  was 
pleased  and  gave  the  Fra  his  liberty  forthwith, 
taking  him  back  to  within  sight  of  Trajan's 
arch,  when  he  was  precipitately  put  over  side 
and  made  to  swim  ashore,  the  pirate  returning 
from  whence  he  came. 


244     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

Senegallia,  between  Ancona  and  Pesaro,  was 
an  appanage  of  the  Dukes  of  Urbino.  It  is  an 
enchanting,  unworldly  little  town,  even  to-day, 
its  great  protecting  walls  pierced  by  six  gate- 
ways, the  same  through  which  a  whole  hier- 
archy of  conquerors  passed  in  the  long  ago.  It 
is  a  place  of  dreams,  if  one  is  given  to  that  sort 
of  thing.  The  Mediaeval  Palazzo  Communal  is 
still  in  evidence,  and  the  little  creek-like  har- 
bour is  full  of  wobbly  little  boats  with  painted 
masts  and  sails,  all  most  quaint.  Behind  are 
the  gentle  slopes  of  vine-clad  hills  shutting  out 
the  western  world  beyond. 

Pesaro,  the  ancient  Pisaurum,  is  the  capital 
of  the  united  provinces  of  Pesaro  and  Urbino. 
The  Malatesta,  the  Sforza  and  the  Eovere  fam- 
ilies all  ruled  its  destinies  in  their  time,  and 
the  little  capital  came  to  be  a  literary  and  art 
centre  which,  in  a  small  way,  rivalled  its  more 
opulent  compeers. 

Pesaro 's  ducal  palace  is,  in  a  way,  a  monu- 
ment to  the  Queen  Lucrezia  Borgia,  as  is  the 
rude  fortress  of  the  walls  a  memory  of  Giovanni 
Sforza,  her  first  husband.  At  the  age  of 
twenty-six,  Giovanni  married  the  daughter  of 
Alessandro  Borgia,  who  was  but  thirteen,  and 
brought  his  bride  forthwith,  blessed  with  the 
Papal  benediction,  to  this  bijou  of  a  palace 


ft^ 


a 

CJ 


By  Adriatic's  Shore  245 


where  fetes  and  merrymakings  of  a  most  prod- 
igal sort  went  on  for  many  nights  and  days. 

Back  to  the  coast  and  one  comes  to  Rimini, 
the  southern  terminus  of  the  Via  Emilia. 
Rimini's  Arco  d'Augusto  was  erected  as  a  me- 
morial to  the  great  Augustus  in  27  b.  c.  The 
Ponte  d'Augusto,  too,  is  a  monument  of  the 
times,  which  date  back  nearly  nineteen  cen- 
turies. It  was  begun  in  the  last  year  of  the 
life  of  Augustus. 

The  Palazzo  del  Comune  contains  the  mu- 
nicipal picture-gallery,  and  before  it  stands  a 
bronze  statue  of  Pope  Paul  V,  but  the  greatest 
interest  lies  in  the  contemplation  of  the  now 
ruined  and  dilapidated  Castel  Malatesta.  Its 
walls  are  grim  and  sturdy  still,  but  it  is  noth- 
ing but  a  hollow  mockery  of  a  castle  to-day, 
as  it  has  been  relegated  to  use  as  a  prison  and 
stripped  of  all  its  luxurious  belongings  of  the 
days  of  the  Malatesta.  The  family  arms  in  cut 
stone  still  appear  above  the  portal. 

The  chief  figure  of  Rimini's  old  time  portrait 
gallery  was  the  famous  Lord  of  Rimini,  Sigis- 
mondo  Malatesta,  a  man  of  exquisite  taste,  a 
patron  of  the  arts,  a  sincere  lover  of  beauty. 

From  Rimini  to  Ravenna,  still  within  sight 
of  the  Adriatic's  waves,  is  some  fifty  kilometres 
by  road  or  rail,  through  a  low,  marshy,  un- 


246     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

wholesome-looking  region,  half  aquatic,  half 
terrestrial. 

La  Pineta,  or  the  Pine  Forest,  the  same 
whose  praises  were  sung  by  Dante,  Boccaccio, 
Dryden  and  Byron,  and  which  supplied  the 
timber  for  the  Venetian  ships  of  the  Republic's 
heyday  is  in  full  view  from  Ravenna's  walls. 

Boccaccio  made  the  Pineta  the  scene  of  his 
singular  tale,  '' Nostagio  degli  Onesti";  the 
incidents  of  which,  ending  in  the  amorous  con- 
version of  the  ladies  of  Ravenna,  have  been 
made  familiar  to  the  English  reader  by  Dry- 
den's  adoption  of  them  in  his  ''  Theodore  and 
Honoria.'* 

"  Where  the  last  Caesarean  fortress  stood, 

Evergreen  forest!  which  Boccaccio's  lore 

And  Dry  den's  lay  made  haunted  ground." 

Ravenna  sits  grim  and  proud  in  the  very 
midst  of  wide,  flat,  marshy  plains  across  which 
straight  arrow-like  roads  roll  out  seemingly  in- 
terminable kilometres  to  the  joy  of  the  auto- 
mobilist  and  the  despair  of  the  traveller  with 
a  hired  hack.  The  region  between  Ravenna 
and  the  sea  is  literally  half  land,  half  water, 
marshes  partitioned  off  by  canals  and  pools 
stretching  away  in  every  direction.  It  is  lone 
and  strange,  but  it  is  not  sad  and  above  all  is 


By  Adriatic's  Shore  247 

most  impressive.  Turn  out  of  any  of  Raven- 
na's great  gates  and  the  aspect  is  invariably 
the  same.  Great  ox-carts,  peasants  in  the  fields 
and,  far  away,  the  brown  sails  of  the  Adriatic 
fishing  boats  are  the  only  punctuating  notes  of 
a  landscape  which  is  anything  but  gay  and 
lively.  It  is  as  Holland  under  a  mediaeval  sun, 
for  mostly  the  sun  shines  brilliantly  here,  which 
it  does  not  in  the  Low  Countries.  Ravenna 
was  the  ancient  capital  of  the  Occidental  Ro- 
man Empire,  but  to-day,  in  its  marshy  site,  the 
city  is  in  anything  but  the  proud  estate  it  once 
occupied.  The  aspect  of  the  whole  city  is  as 
weird  and  strange  as  that  of  its  site.  It  is  of 
far  too  great  an  area  for  the  few  thousand  pal- 
lid mortals  who  live  there.  It  has  ever  been 
a  theatre  of  crime,  disaster  and  disappoint- 
ment, but  its  very  walls  and  gateways  echo  a 
mysterious  and  penetrating  charm.  It  pos- 
sesses, even  to-day,  though  more  or  less  in  frag- 
ments it  is  true,  many  structures  dating  from 
the  fifth  to  the  eighth  centuries,  though  of  its 
old  Palace  of  the  Caesars  but  a  few  crumbled 
stones  remain.  Ravenna  is  the  home  of  the 
classic  typical  Christian  architecture  which 
went  out  broadcast  through  Europe  in  the 
middle  ages.  The  Palace  of  Theodoric  hardly 
exists  as  a  ruin,  but  some  poor  ugly  stone  piers 


248     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

are  commonly  granted  the  dignity  of  once  hav- 
ing belonged  to  it,  as  well  as  an  ancient  wall 
of  brick. 

Theodoric's  tomb  is  in  La  Rotonda,  a  kilo- 
metre or  more  from  Eavenna  in  the  midst  of 
a  vineyard.  The  earliest  portrait  in  Ravenna's 
great  gallery  of  notables  is  that  of  Theodoric, 
an  art-loving  ruler,  an  enlightened  adminis- 
trator, with  simple,  devout  ideas,  and  a  habit 
of  nightly  vigils.  Ravenna  was  to  him  a  world, 
a  rich  golden  world,  polished  yet  primitive. 

Aside  from  its  magnificent  churches,  Raven- 
na's monuments  are  not  many  or  great. 

There  is  Theodoric's  Palace  before  men- 
tioned, the  Archiepiscopal  Palace,  a  restored 
work  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  the  Palazzo 
Governativo  built  in  the  eighteenth  century, 
with  many  splendid  fragments  —  columns  and 
the  like —  of  an  earlier  period  incorporated 
therein. 

On  the  Piazza  Vittorio  Emanuele  are  two 
great  granite  columns,  erected  in  1484  by  the 
Venetians,  and  some  fragments  of  a  colonnade 
or  loggia  which  may  be  a  part  of  the  Hall  of 
Justice  of  Theodoric's  time. 

The  tomb  of  Dante  is  near  the  church  of 
San  Francesco.  It  is  an  uncouth  shrine  which 
covers  the  poet's  remains,  but  it  ranks  high 


Palazzo  di  Teodortco,  Ravenna 


By  Adriatic's  Shore 


249 


Column  to"  ___ 

e-ASTON  de  FOIX...R.AVI 


250     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

among  those  of  its  class  from  more  sincere  mo- 
tives than  those  which  usually  induce  one  to 
rave  over  more  pompous  and  more  splendid 
charms. 

"  Ungrateful  Florence !    Dante  sleeps  afar/' 

sang  Byron. 

Northward  from  Ravenna,  but  in  roundabout 
fashion  whether  one  goes  by  road  or  rail  is 
Comacchio.  Comacchio  is  four  kilometres 
from  the  Adriatic  and  forty-four  from  Ferrara. 
Ariosto  called  the  inhabitants :  — 

" gente  desiosa 

Che  il  mar  si  turhi  e  sieno  i  venti  atroci,*' 

but  this  need  not  deter  the  seeker  after  new 
sensations  from  going  there  to  see  them  catch 
eels  on  a  wholesale  plan,  and  handle  them  after- 
wards in  a  manner  of  cleanliness  and  with  a 
rapidity  which  is  truly  marvellous. 

They  are  caught  by  wholesale,  and  a  taglia- 
tore  armed  with  a  useful-looking  hatchet  called 
a  manarino  chops  them  into  pieces  called  mo- 
relli.  After  this  the  eels  are  cooked  on  a  great 
open-fire  spit  and  finally  packed  in  boiling  oil, 
like  the  little  fishes  of  the  Breton  coast,  and 
ultimately  sold  and  served  as  hors  d'oeiivres  in 


By  Adriatic's  Shore  251 

Italian  restaurants  the  world  over.  North  of 
Comacchio  on  the  shore  of  a  Venetian  lagoon 
is  Chioggia. 

Chioggia  has  no  great  architectural  or  his- 
torical monuments,  but  is  as  paintable  as  Ven- 
ice itself ;  indeed,  it  is  a  little  brother  to  Ven- 
ice, but  lacking  its  splendour  and  great  palaces. 
Its  quay-side  Madonna  is  venerated  by  all  the 
fishing  folk  round  about. 

Venice  early  conquered  Chioggia  and  in  turn 
the  Genoese  came  along  and  took  it  from  their 
rival  in  1379,  though  the  Venetians  within  the 
year  got  it  back  again.  With  such  a  fate  ever 
hanging  over  it,  Chioggia  had  not  great  en- 
couragement to  build  great  palaces  and  so  its 
inhabitants  turned  to  fishing  and  have  always 
kept  at  it. 

Unless  one  is  crossing  direct  from  Florence 
to  Venice,  by  the  Futa  Pass  and  Bologna,  Fer- 
rara,  as  a  stopping  place  on  one's  Italian  itin- 
erary, is  best  reached  from  Ravenna.  The 
road  is  flat,  generally  well-conditioned  and  cov- 
ers a  matter  of  seventy  kilometres,  mostly 
within  sight  of  the  sea  or  lagoons,  more  like 
Holland  even  than  the  country  through  which 
one  has  recently  passed. 

Of  all  the  romantic  Renaissance  shrines  of 


252     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 


^t^ 


The   Madonna  of   Chioggia 


By  Adriatic's  Shore  253 

Italy  none  have  a  more  potent  attraction  than 
Ferrara. 

The  Ferrara  of  the  Middle  Ages,  like  the 
Ferrara  of  to-day,  is  a  paradox.  No  Italian 
State  of  similar  power  and  magnificence  ever 
exerted  such  disproportionate  influence  upon 
mediaeval  Italy;  no  city  in  United  Italy  in 
which  are  so  combined  the  fascinating  treas- 
ures of  the  past  and  modern  political  and  in- 
dustrial enterprise  is  so  ignored  by  the  casual 
traveller.  Once  the  strongest  post  on  the  fron- 
tier of  the  Papal  States,  the  seat  of  the  House 
of  Este,  the  abiding  place  of  Torquato  Tasso 
and  Ludovico  Ariosto,  and  the  final  marital 
home  of  Lucrezia  Borgia,  the  golden  period  of 
its  sixteenth  century  magnificence  has  sunk  into 
an  isolation  unheeded  by  contingent  develop- 
ment, and  its  inhabitants  have  shrunken  to  a 
bare  third  of  their  former  numbers. 

The  ducal  family  of  Este  lived  the  life  of 
the  times  to  the  limit  of  their  powers.  They, 
one  and  all,  inherited  a  taste  for  crimes  of  vari- 
ous shades,  just  as  they  inherited  the  love  of 
art.  Alfonso,  Duke  of  Ferrara,  had  no  pro- 
found moral  sense  in  spite  of  his  finer  instincts, 
and  was  so  ^'  liberal  minded  "  that  he  shocked 
Bayard,  the  ''  chevalier  sans  peur  et  sans  re- 
proche,"   into   crossing  himself   "  more   than 


254     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

ten  times  "  as  an  antidote,  when  he  first  came 
into  the  ducal  presence. 

Ferrara's  castello  or  castel  vecchio,  which 
is  better  known  as  its  ducal  chateau,  is  a  re- 


From  a  frieze  in  the  Palazzo,  at  Ferrara 


markable  specimen  of  military  architecture. 
On  Saint  Michael's  Day,  1385,  its  first  stones 
were  put  in  place  by  Bartolina  di  Novara,  and 
the  ardour  of  the  workmen  was  so  great  that 
at  the  end  of  sixteen  months  the  work  was  com- 


FERRAiCA        • 


F6 


By  Adriatic's  Shore  255 

pleted  as  it  is  to-day,  with  its  towers,  its  doubly 
thick  walls,  and  all  its  brutal  force. 

A  fosse  surrounds  the  edifice,  and  two  gate- 
ways only  give  access  to  the  interior.  Under 
Alphonso  I  certain  embellishments  were  added 
to  the  old  castle,  bringing  it  up  to  the  times 
in  luxurious  decorative  details  and  the  like. 
The  rude  feudal  castle  now  became  virtually 
a  residential  chateau.  The  crenelated  battle- 
ments were  transformed  into  mere  parapets, 
the  chemins  de  ronde  into  terraces  and  hanging 
gardens. 

Pictures  and  frescoes  were  at  this  time  added 
liberally,  and,  though  to-day  many  of  these 
have  been  dispersed  to  the  four  corners  of  Eu- 
rope, enough  remain  to  indicate  the  importance 
of  these  new  embellishments. 

The  cachots  or  dungeon  cells  still  exist,  and 
are  regarded  —  by  the  guardian  —  as  one  of 
the  chief  '*  sights."  Some  others  may  think 
differently. 

The  house  of  Ariosto  is  one  of  Ferrara's 
most  popular  attractions,  though  indeed  it  is 
not  remarkable  architecturally.  Ariosto  was 
one  of  the  brilliant  figures  of  the  Ferrara  court, 
but  his  house  was  modest  and  bare,  as  is  re- 
marked by  a  tablet  which  it  bore  in  the  poet's 
time,  and  on  which  was  carved  in  Latin :  ' '  My 


256     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

house  is  small  but  was  built  for  my  own  con- 
venience and  entirely  with  my  own  money." 
How  many  householders  of  to-day  can  say  the 
same? 

In  the  hospital  in  the  southern  quarter  of 
the  town  is  still  to  be  seen  the  prison  cell  com- 
monly assigned  to  Tasso.  On  the  walls  are 
scribbled  the  names  of  Lord  Byron  and  Casimir 
Delavigne  and  Lamartine's  verses  on  Tasso, 
and  over  the  door  runs  the  inscription  — 


''  Ingresso  alla  priglone  di  Torquato  Tasso." 


For  seven  years  and  more  Tasso  lived  within 
these  four  narrow  walls. 

"  Ferrara!  in  thy  wide  and  grass-grown  streets 
Whose  symmetry  was  not  for  solitude, 
There  seems  as  'twere  a  curse  upon  the  seats 
Of  former  sovereigns,  and  the  antique  brood 
OfEste    .    .    . 

And  Tasso  is  their  glory  and  their  shame." 

"  Childe  Harold." 

Closely  bound  with  Ferrara  and  the  fortunes 
of  the  family  of  Este  is  the  town  of  that  name 
midway  between  Ferrara  and  Padua  at  the  foot 
of  the  Euganean  Hills.  The  ancestral  resi- 
dence of  the  family  of  Este  is  here,  but  in  a 
more  or  less  ruinous  state  to-day. 


By  Adriatic's  Shore  257 

The  "  Rocca  "  or  Castle  of  Este  was  erected 
in  1343  by  Ulbertino  Carrara,  and  repaired  by 
the  Scaligers  during  their  temporary  posses- 
sion of  it.  It  is  a  noble  dungeon  tower,  with 
frowning  embrasures  and  battlements,  and 
stands  at  least  upon  the  site  of  the  original 
fortress.  Alberto  Azzo  (born  996)  was  the 
more  immediate  founder  of  the  house  here  on 
the  death  of  the  Emperor  Henry  III.  The  an- 
cestry of  Alberto  may  be  traced  in  history  to 
Bonifazio,  Duke  or  Marquis  of  Tuscany,  in  811. 
Poetry  carries  it  much  higher.  The  magician, 
in  the  vision  of  the  enchanted  shield,  enables 
Rinaldo  to  behold  Caius  Attius  as  his  remote 
ancestor :  — 

"  Mostragli  Caio  allot,  ch'a  strane  genti 
Va  prima  in  preda  il  gia  inclinato  Impero, 
Prendere  il  fren  de'  popoli  volenti, 
E  farsi  d'  Este  il  Principe  primiero; 
E  a  lui  ricoverarsi  i  men  potenti 
Vicini,  a  cui  Rettor  facea  mestiero, 
Poscia,  quando  ripassi  il  varco  noto, 
A  gli  inviti  d'  Honorio  il  fero  Goto." 

—  Orlando  Furioso. 

Guelph,  Duke  of  Bavaria  (succeeded  1071), 
from  whom  all  the  branches  of  the  House  of 
Brunswick  are  descended,  was  the  son  of  Al- 
berto Azzo,  Marquis  of  Este,  by  his  first  wife, 
Cunegunda,  a  princess  of  the  Suabian  line. 


258     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

Fulco  I,  Marquis  of  Italy  and  Lord  of  Este, 
the  son  of  Alberto  Azzo  by  his  second  wife, 
Garisenda,  daughter  of  Herbert,  Count  of 
Maine,  was  the  founder  of  the  Italian  branch 
from  which  the  Dukes  of  Ferrara  and  Modena 
descended,  the  male  line  of  which  became  ex- 
tinct at  the  end  of  the  last  century.  The  Duke 
of  Modena,  who  was  deposed  in  the  mid-nine- 
teenth century,  represented  the  house  of  Este 
in  the  female  line,  —  his  grandmother,  Maria 
Beatrix,  having  been  the  last  descendant  of  the 
Italian  branch,  Este  continued  in  the  posses- 
sion of  the  descendants  of  Alberto  until  1294, 
when  it  fell  an  easy  conquest  to  the  Carraras. 
Successively  a  dependency  of  Padua  and  of  the 
Verona  Scaligers,  it  passed  to  Venice  in  1405, 
retaining  its  local  government  and  municipal 
institutions. 

Near  Este  is  Arqua,  where  Petrarch  died  in 
1374.  It  has  been  a  literary  shrine  since  1650, 
for  a  chronicler  of  that  time  remarks  it  as  one 
of  the  things  to  come  to  Italy  to  see.  The  house 
is  still  to  be  seen,  and  the  sarcophagus  contain- 
ing his  remains  and  an  inscription  beginning  — 

"  Frigida  Frandsd  lopis  hie  tegit  ossa  Petrarce  " 

is  before   the  tiny   church  of  this  little   fre- 
quented and  little  exploited  village. 


By  Adriatic's  Shore 


259 


CHAPTER   XV 

ON   THE   VIA  iEMILIA 

The  Via  Emilia  of  antiquity  is  a  wonder 
to-day,  or  would  be  if  it  were  kept  in  a  little 
better  repair.  As  it  is,  it  is  as  good  a  road  as 
any  ''  good  road  "  in  Italy,  and  straight  as  an 
arrow,  as  it  runs  boldly  from  the  Adriatic  at 
Rimini  to  Piacenza,  through  the  ancient  States 
of  Bologna,  Modena  and  Parma, 

No  automobilist  who  ever  rolls  off  its  length 
of  262  kilometres  will  class  it  as  inferior  to 
any  other  Italian  road  of  its  class. 

The  following  categorical  mention  of  the 
cities  and  towns  on  this  great  Roman  way  pre- 
sents their  varied  charms  in  a  sufficient  num- 
ber, surely,  to  make  the  hurried  north  or  south- 
bound traveller  think  it  worth  while  to  zigzag 
about  a  bit,  in  going  from  Florence  to  Venice, 
in  order  to  visit  them  all. 

The  first  place  of  note  after  leaving  Rimini 
is  Cesana  — ''  She  whose  flank  is  washed  by 
Savio's  wave,"  Dante  wrote. 

260 


On  the  Via  -ffimilia  261 

Cesana  is  full  of  reminders  of  the  profligate 
CaBsar  Borgia.  The  library  of  Cesana  was  fa- 
mous in  mediaeval  times  and  held  its  head  high 
among  the  city's  other  glories.  Above  all  was 
the  famous  Rocca  of  Cesana,  a  fortress  chateau 
of  great  strength  in  days  when  feudal  lords 
needed  a  warren  into  which  they  might  run  and 
hide  at  every  league. 

The  Palazzo  Publico  is  a  square,  sturdy,  none 
too  lovely  building  with  some  notable  pictures 
within,  and  a  statue  of  Pius  VII,  who  was  a 
native  of  the  place. 

In  the  stirring  times  of  the  pontificate  of 
G-regorius  XI,  the  Avignon  Pope  sent  a  cut- 
throat Cardinal  into  Italy  at  the  head  of  a  band 
of  soldiery  who  entered  and  pillaged  Cesana 
in  1377.  His  cry  at  the  head  of  his  troops  was 
ever:  ''Blood!  more  blood!  Kill!  Kill! 
Kill!  "  A  nice  sort  of  a  man  for  a  Cardinal 
Prince  of  the  Church ! 

The  highroad  between  Cesana  and  Eimini 
passes  through  the  valley  of  the  Rubicon.  Mule 
tracks,  sloping  hills  and  olive  groves  are  the 
chief  characteristics  of  this  vale,  the  spot  where 
Caesar  apocryphally  crossed  the  Rubicon.  His- 
torians up  to  Montesquieu's  time  seemed  to 
take  it  for  granted,  but  latterly  it  has  been 
denied. 


262     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

Forli  and  Imola  were  the  principal  towns  of 
Romagna,  the  patrimony  of  Catherine  Sforza 
and  Girolamo  Riario,  nephew  of  Pope  Six- 
tus  IV.  When  the  new  married  pair  first  came 
to  their  little  State  from  Rome  the  Renaissance 
was  at  its  height,  and  the  ambitious  bride 
sought,  so  far  as  possible,  to  surround  herself 
with  its  splendours.  Their  reign  in  the  east 
was  not  happy ;  Girolamo  proved  a  tyrant,  and 
was  promptly  assassinated  by  his  followers, 
leaving  Catherine  and  her  five  children  com- 
pletely in  the  power  of  his  murderers,  who 
made  her  give  up  her  claims  to  her  little  king- 
dom. She  consented,  or  pretended  to  consent. 
She  conspired  with  the  Governor  of  the  for- 
tress, Tommaso  Feo,  and  appeared  on  its  ram- 
parts dressed  as  a  warrior.  She  refused  to  sur- 
render, and  when  it  was  recalled  that  she  had 
left  her  children  behind  as  hostages  she  cruelly 
replied :  ' '  In  time  I  shall  have  others. ' '  Cath- 
erine Sforza  was  a  bloodthirsty  vixen,  surely. 

Forli  was  Catherine  Sforza 's  own  city,  and 
her  defence  of  it  against  the  Borgias  was  one 
of  the  celebrated  sieges  of  history.  She  held 
out  two  years,  and  then  only  gave  in  because 
she  was  betrayed.  Her  very  reason  of  warring 
with  the  Borgias  reflects  greatly  on  her  credit. 
She  refused  simply  to  allow  her  son  to  marry 


On  the  Via  iEmilia  2G3 

the  aging  Lucrezia;  "  not  so  much  on  account 
of  her  age,"  said  Catherine,  "  as  her  morals," 
Princely  marriages  are  often  carried  out  on 
different  lines  to-day. 

Almost  within  sight  of  Forli  is  Faenza,  a  city 
which  was  under  the  domination  of  the  Man- 
fredi  when  Caesar  Borgia  took  it  into  his  head 
to  move  against  it.  A  young  prince  by  the 
name  of  Astor  III,  but  eighteen  years  of  age, 
beloved  by  all  for  his  amiability,  grace  and 
youth,  held  its  future  in  his  hands.  Wlien  the 
key  of  Faenza,  Brisighella,  fell  to  the  Borgia's 
captain  of  artillery  in  the  early  days  of  No- 
vember in  1500,  the  emperor-like  Caesar  him- 
self came  forward  and  took  command.  He 
offered  life  to  the  dwellers  within  the  walls 
if  they  would  surrender,  but  they  would  have 
none  of  it,  for,  as  the  Borgia  wrote  in  a  letter 
to  the  Due  d'Urbino,  dated  from  ''  the  pon- 
tifical camp  before  Faenza,"  a  *'  dramatic  de- 
fence was  made  by  the  citizens  of  the  town." 
This  ''  dramatic  defence  "  was  such  that  it 
compelled  Borgia  and  his  papal  soldiers  to  go 
into  winter  quarters.  The  struggle  was  the 
longest  that  Borgia  had  yet  undertaken  in  his 
campaigns,  and  the  women  of  Faenza,  as  did 
Catherine  Sforza  at  Forli,  covered  themselves 
with  glory. 


264     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

A  daughter  of  a  soldier  of  the  garrison,  Dia- 
mante Jovelli,  put  herself  at  the  head  of  a  band 
of  Amazons  who  took  entire  charge  of  the  com- 
missariat, the  handling  of  the  munitions  of  war, 
and  served  as  sentinels,  repairing  the  walls 
even  when  breached  —  rough  work  for  women. 
' '  The  women  of  Faenza  have  saved  the  honour 
of  Italy,"  wrote  Isabella  d'Este  in  1501  to  her 
husband,  the  Duke  of  Mantua,  and  Caesar  Bor- 
gia himself  committed  himself  to  paper  with 
the  following  words :  '  *  Would  that  I  had  an  en- 
tire army  of  the  women  of  Faenza."  The  city 
fell  in  due  time,  and  the  crafty  Caesar  honoured 
the  gallant  Manfredi,  '*  crowned  with  the  lau- 
rels of  valour  and  misfortune,"  by  allowing 
him  ''  a  guard  of  honour  and  all  his  proper 
dignities."  Later  the  Borgia  repented  of  his 
generosity,  and  sent  the  young  and  gallant 
prince  to  Rome,  and  imprisoned  him  in  the 
Castle  of  Sant'  Angelo  for  a  year. 

Faenza  is  a  very  ancient  town,  and  less  pop- 
ulous to-day  than  it  was  fifty  years  ago,  when 
also  it  was  less  populous  than  it  was  five  hun- 
dred years  ago. 

Imola,  the  seventh  place  of  importance  on 
the  ^milian  itinerary  counting  from  Rimini, 
was  the  ancient  Forum  Cornelii,  but  by  Charle- 
magne's time  it  had  already  become  known  by 


On  the  Via  -ffimilia  265 

its  present  name.  In  the  middle  ages  Imola's 
geographical  position,  midway  between  Bo- 
logna and  Romagna,  made  it  an  important 
acquisition  in  the  contests  for  power.  It  was 
successfully  held  by  many  different  chiefs,  and 
was  united  to  the  States  of  the  Church  under 
Julius  II.  As  one  of  the  stations  on  the  ^mil- 
ian  Way,  it  was  a  place  of  some  importance; 
it  is  mentioned  by  Cicero,  and  by  Martial:  — 

"  Si  veneris  unde  requiret, 
iEmiliae  dices  de  regione  vise. 
Si  quibus  in  terris,  qua  simus  in  urbe  rogabit, 
Corneli  referas  me,  licet,  esse  Foro." 

The  fortress  chateau  of  Imola  was  almost 
identical  in  form  with  that  of  Forli,  quadri- 
lateral with  four  great  towers  at  the  angles, 
and  a  crenelated  battlement  at  the  skyline. 

Caesar  Borgia  brought  this  fortress  to  igno- 
ble surrender  in  1499,  but  since  the  fortress 
was  then  quite  independent  of  the  city  he  had 
still  another  task  before  him  before  the  inhab- 
itants actually  came  within  his  powers.  A  fort- 
night after  the  capture  of  the  fortress  the  city 
itself  fell.  Imola  was  a  part  of  the  marriage 
dot  of  Catherine  Sforza,  who  confided  its  de- 
fence to  Dionigi  di  Naldo  while  she  busied  her- 
self at  Forli,  where  she  reigned  as  widow  and 
inheritor  of  Riario  Sforza. 


266     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

On  towards  Bologna  one  passes  Castel  San 
Pietro,  a  thirteenth  centnry  fortified  town  still 
sleeping  its  dull  time  away  since  no  war  or 
rumours  of  war  give  it  concern.  Quaderna, 
even  less  progressive  and  important  to-day 
than  its  neighbour,  was  the  important  station 
of  Claternum  in  the  days  when  traffic  on  the 
great  ^milian  way  was  greater  than  now. 

Bologna's  towers  and  domes  loom  large  on 
the  horizon  as  one  draws  up  on  this  great  cap- 
ital from  any  direction,  Bologna,  because  of 
its  easy  access,  is  one  of  the  popular  tourist 
points  of  Italy,  and  for  that  reason  it  is  omitted 
from  nobody's  itinerary,  though  most  hurried 
travellers  remember  the  mortadella  better  than 
they  do  the  cathedral,  which  in  truth  is  nothing 
very  fine  so  far  as  architectural  masterpieces 

go- 

The  roads  in  and  out  of  Bologna  are  quite 
the  best  to  be  found  neighbouring  upon  a  large 
city  in  Italy.  They  shall  not  be  described  fur- 
ther, the  mere  statement  that  this  is  so  should 
be  taken  as  sufficient  praise. 

The  streets  within  the  gates  too,  though 
paved,  are  splendidly  straight  and  smooth, 
though  encumbered  at  one  or  two  awkward 
corners  with  tram  tracks. 

The  visitor  to  Bologna  may  take  his  ease  at 


On  the  Via  Emilia 


267 


the  Hotel  Brun,  quite  the  most  distinguished 
hotel  in  all  Italy,  not  even  excepting  Daniellis 
or  the  Grand  at  Venice,  each  of  them  a  palazzo 
of  long  ago. 
The  Hotel  Brun  is  a  red  brick  palace  of  im- 


rorta  OalUfrdr\ 


^rf*  yioJCa- 


I 


^forta  S  f^HUf 


PAL  ARClVt5C0V(Le: 


•   TORRC  flSINELLI 

\fA\.    BOLOONINI 


posing  presence,  with  a  delightful  courtyard 
where  you  may  stable  your  automobile  along 
side  of  those  of  most  of  the  touring  nobility  of 
Europe  at  a  cost  of  two  and  a  half  francs  a 
night.  The  hotel  in  spite  of  this  is  excellent  in 
every  way. 


268     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

Bologna  is  surrounded  by  a  city  wall  pierced 
by  twelve  gateways  and  thus  well  preserves 
its  mediseval  effect  in  spite  of  its  theatres,  cafes 
and  restaurants,  which  are  decidedly  modern 
and  unlovely. 

Bologna  when  it  was  conquered  by  the  Gauls 
took  the  name  of  Bononia,  Under  Charle- 
magne it  became  a  free  city  and  had  for  its 
device  the  equivalent  of  the  word  Liberty. 

Bologna,  the  ancient  city,  proud  in  the  mid- 
dle ages  and  independent  always,  has  ever  been 
the  cradle  of  disturbing  factions,  a  revolution- 
ary precursor  of  new  ideas,  and  has  been  sold 
and  sold  again  by  first  one  Judas  and  then  an- 
other. 

Bologna  is,  taking  its  history,  its  present 
day  prosperity  and  its  still  existing  mediaeval 
monuments  into  consideration,  the  most  im- 
pressive and  imposing  of  all  the  secondary 
cities  of  Italy,  indeed  in  many  of  the  things 
that  impress  the  traveller  it  is  ahead,  far 
ahead,  of  Florence. 

Paul  Van  Herle,  a  fifteenth  century  Dutch- 
man, first  called  the  city  Bologna  la  Grassa  be- 
cause of  the  opulency  of  the  good  things  of  the 
table  which  might  be  had  here.  Its  wines  and 
its  grapes  are  superlative,  and  its  mortadella, 


The  Leaning  Toivers  of  Bologna 


On  the  Via  iEmilia  269 

or  Bologna  sausage,  is,  to  many,  a  delicacy 
without  an  equal. 

Bologna  seems  to  have  a  specialty  of  leaning 
towers,  though  the  school  histories  and  geog- 
raphies always  use  that  of  Pisa  to  illustrate 
those  architectural  curiosities.  Their  histories 
are  very  romantic,  and  the  mere  fact  that  they 
are  out  of  perpendicular  takes  nothing  away 
from  their  charm.  The  two  leaning  brick  tow- 
ers of  Bologna's  Piazza  di  Porta  Ravegnana, 
the  Torri  Asinelli  and  the  Torri  Gorisenda,  the 
first  nearly  a  hundred  metres  in  height  and  the 
latter  about  half  that  height,  are  two  of  the 
most  remarkable  structures  ever  erected  by  the 
hand  of  man. 

The  Asinelli  tower  was  built  in  1109,  and  its 
neighbour,  which  never  achieved  its  completion, 
in  the  following  year. 

From  Bologna  to  Modena  is  thirty- two  kilo- 
metres and  midway  is  Castel  Franco  or  Forte 
Urbano,  as  it  is  variously  known.  It  was  for- 
merly the  Forum  Grallorum  of  the  Romans  and 
still  has  its  castel  little  changed  from  what  it 
was  in  the  days  when  Urban  VIII  built  it. 

Modena  is  mostly  confounded  by  hurried 
travellers  with  Modane,  though  the  latter  is 
merely  a  railway  junction  where  one  is  tumbled 


270     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

out  in  the  middle  of  the  night  to  make  his  peace 
with  railway  and  customs  officials. 

Modena's  Palazzo  Ducale,  now  the  Palazzo 
Reale,  was  and  is  a  vast,  gaudy  construction, 
not  lovely  but  overpowering  with  a  certain 
crude  grandeur.  A  military  school  has  now 
turned  it  to  practical  use.  It  never  could  have 
been  good  for  much  else.  A  picture  gallery 
and  Caesar  d'Este's  famous  library  are  quar- 
tered in  the  Albergo  Arti,  built  by  the  Duke 
Francesco  III  in  the  seventeenth  century. 

The  library  Biblioteca  Estense  was  brought 
from  Ferrara  in  1598  by  Caesar  d'Este  on  his 
expulsion  by  Clement  VIII.  It  contained  100,- 
000  volumes  and  3,000  MSS.  Three  of  the  most 
learned  men  in  Italy  during  the  last  century 
—  Zaccaria,  Tiraboschi  and  Muratori  —  were 
its  librarians.  Amongst  the  treasures  were  a 
gospel  of  the  third  century,  a  Dante  with  min- 
iature of  the  fourteenth  century,  a  collection 
of  several  hundred  Provengal  poems,  etc. 

Modena  was  the  birthplace  of  Mary  of  Mo- 
dena,  the  fascinating  princess  who  became  the 
Italian  Queen  of  the  English  people,  the  con- 
sort of  James  II.  She  was  an  Italian  Princess 
of  the  house  of  Este.  Her  mother  was  the 
Duchess  Laura  of  Modena,  daughter  of  Count 
Martinozzi  and  Margaret  Mazarini,  cousin  of 


On  the  Via  -ffimilia  271 

the  great  Cardinal  Mazarin,  and  she  was  mar- 
ried, under  his  auspices,  at  the  Chapel  Royal 
of  Compiegne,  in  1655,  by  proxy,  to  Alfonso 
d'Este,  hereditary  Prince,  and  afterwards  Duke 
Alfonso  IV  of  Modena. 

When  Lord  Peterborough,  the  envoy  of  the 
Duke  of  York,  was  shown  the  portrait  of  the 
Princess  Mary  he  saw  "  a  young  Creature 
about  Fourteen  years  of  Age ;  but  such  a  light 
of  Beauty,  such  Characters  of  Ingenuity  and 
Goodness  as  it  surprised  him,  and  fixt  upon  his 
Phancy  that  he  had  found  his  Mistress,  and 
the  Fortune  of  England."  He  made  every 
effort  to  meet  her  personally,  but  in  vain;  so 
he  was  introduced,  ''  by  means  such  as  might 
seem  accidental,"  to  the  Abbe  Rizzini,  who  was 
employed  at  Paris  to  negotiate  the  interests 
of  the  House  of  Este.  This  man  attributed 
*'  many  excellencies  to  Mary  of  Modena,  yet 
he  endeavoured  to  make  them  useless  "  to  them 
by  saying  that  she  and  her  mother  wished  that 
she  might  take  the  veil.  It  was  later  learned 
that  obstacles  were  put  in  the  Duke  of  York's 
way  until  he  announced  his  willingness  to  be- 
come a  Roman  Catholic. 

Reggio  in  Emilia,  passed  on  the  road  to 
Parma,  is  a  snug  little  town,  supposedly  the 
birthplace   of  Ariosto.     A   house    so   marked 


272     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 


compels  popular  admiration,  but  again  it  is 
possible  that  lie  was  born  within  the  citadel, 
since  razed. 

The  Duchies  of  Parma  and  Modena  counted 
little  in  the  political  balance  in  their  day,  but 


the  fetes  and  spectacles  of  their  courts  were 
frequently  brilliant. 

The  Duchy  of  Parma  and  of  Piacenza  was 
created  in  1545  by  the  Pope  Paul  III  for  his 
son  Pietro  Farnese.  Little  of  Parma's  medi- 
aeval character  remains  to-day.  The  town  is 
said  to  have  been  called  Parma  from  its  sim- 
ilarity to  the  form  of  a  shield.    But  the  torrent 


On  the  Via  Emilia  273 

Parma,  which  runs  through  the  city,  crossed  by 
three  bridges,  besides  the  railway  bridge,  most 
probably  gave  its  name  to  the  city  which  arose 
upon  the  banks.  When  the  city  was  under  the 
authority  of  the  Popes  it  was  represented  by  a 
female  figure  sitting  on  a  pile  of  shields,  and 
holding  a  figure  of  Victory,  with  the  inscrip- 
tion of  Parma  aurea.  Let  the  heraldic  students 
figure  out  any  solution  of  the  incident  that  they 
please,  or  are  able. 

The  Via  Emilia  divides  the  city,  by  means 
of  the  Strada  Maestra,  into  two  very  nearly 
equal  parts.  Parma,  like  Modena  and  Lucca, 
has  changed  its  fortification  walls  into  boule- 
vards, called  ''  Stradone,"  which  are  the  fa- 
vourite rendezvous  for  Parmesan  high  society 
when  it  goes  out  for  a  stroll. 

Near  Parma  is  Canossa,  the  site  of  an  old 
fortified  town,  one  day  of  considerable  impor- 
tance, but  now  decayed  beyond  hope.  Here 
the  Emperor  Henry  IV,  bareheaded  and  bare- 
footed, supplicated  Pope  Gregory  V  in  1077,  an 
incident  of  history  not  yet  forgotten  by  the 
annalists  of  church  and  state. 

Soon  after  leaving  Parma  the  Roman  road 
crosses  the  river  Taro,  the  boundary  frontier 
which  shut  off  the  Gaulish  from  the  Ligurian 
tribes.    The  Brothers  of  the  Bridge  here  built 


274     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

a  great  work  of  masonry  in  1170,  obtaining 
money  for  the  expense  of  the  work  by  begging 
from  the  travellers  passing  to  and  fro  on  the 
^milian  Way.  In  time  this  old  bridge  was 
carried  away,  and  for  centuries  a  ferry  boat 
served  the  purpose,  until,  in  fact,  the  present 
structure  came  into  being. 

Borgo  San  Donino,  some  twenty  kilometres 
beyond  the  Taro,  marks  the  shrine  of  San  Do- 
nino, a  soldier  in  the  army  of  Maximilian  who 
became  a  Christian  and  refused  to  worship 
as  commanded  by  his  Emperor.  For  this  he 
was  put  to  death  on  this  spot,  and  for  ever 
after  Borgo  San  Donino  has  been  one  of  the 
most  frequented  places  of  pilgrimage  in  Italy. 

Fiorenzuola,  still  on  the  Via  Emilia,  a  dozen 
kilometres  farther  on,  has  still  an  old  tower 
to  which  hang  fragments  of  an  enormous  chain 
by  which  criminals  once  were  bound  and  swung 
aloft. 

All  through  this  fertile,  abundant  region 
through  which  runs  the  famous  Roman  Road 
are  numerous  little  horgos,  or  villages,  bearing 
names  famous  in  the  history  of  Italy  and  its 
contemporary  minor  states. 

Piacenza  was  founded  by  the  Gauls  and  was 
afterwards  by  the  Romans  named  Placentia. 
It  has  ever  prospered,  though  its  career  has 


On  the  Via  -ffimilia 


275 


been  fraught  more  than  once  with  danger  of 
extinction.  By  the  tenth  century  its  great  tra- 
ding fair  was  famous  throughout  Europe. 

Piacenza  is  full  of  palaces,  statues  and  monu- 
ments which  merit  the  consideration  of  all  seri- 


ous minded  persons,  but  the  automobilist  who 
has  made  the  last  fifty  kilometres  of  the  Via 
Emilia  in  the  rain  —  and  how  much  it  does 
rain  in  Italy  only  one  who  has  travelled  there 
by  road  for  weeks  really  appreciates  —  is  first 
concerned  as  to  where  he  may  lay  his  head  and 
house  his  car  free  from  harm. 

The  Grand  Hotel  San  Marco  answers  his 
needs  well  enough  and  has  the  endorsement 
of  the  Touring  Club  de  France  as  well  as  that 


276     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

of  the  Italian  Touring  Club,  but  it  is  ridiculous 
that  one  is  obliged  to  pay  in  a  smug  little  Ital- 
ian town  of  thirty-five  thousand  inhabitants 
five  francs  a  night  for  housing  his  automobile. 
Piacenza  is  on  the  direct  road  to  the  Italian 
Lakes  via  Milan,  from  which  it  is  distant  sev- 
enty kilometres. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


IN    VENETIA 


The  mainland  background  of  Venice,  in  its 
most  comprehensive  sense  the  region  lying 
north  of  the  Po  and  south  and  west  of  the 
Austrian  frontier,  is  not  a  much-travelled  re- 
gion by  any  class  of  tourists  in  Italy.  The 
traveller  by  rail  usually  comes  up  from  Bo- 
logna and  Florence  and,  with  a  stop  at  Padua, 
makes  for  Venice  forthwith  and  leaves  for  the 
Italian  lake  region,  stopping  en  route  at  Ve- 
rona. The  automobilist  too  often  does  the  thing 
even  more  precipitately,  by  taking  Padua  and 
Verona  flying,  or  at  least  while  he  is  stopping 
to  replenish  the  inner  man  or  the  inner  claims 
of  his  automobile.  Certain  readers  of  this  book 
who  may  perhaps  have  done  the  thing  a  little 
more  thoroughly  may  claim  that  this  is  an  ex- 
aggeration, and  so  far  as  it  applies  to  their 
particular  case  it  may  be,  but  the  writer  hon- 
estly believes  that  it  fits  astonishingly  well  with 
the  majority  of   Italian  itineraries   in   these 

277 


278     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

parts.  He  bases  this  on  the  fact  that  he  has 
seen  tourists  in  droves  in  Padua  and  Verona, 
and  he  has  not  seen  one  in  Este,  Monselice, 
Battaglia,  or  even  in  Vicenza,  Treviso,  Asolo 
or  Udine. 

Verona,  Vicenza  and  Padua  were  the  capitals 


of  three  of  the  eight  ancient  provinces  of  Ve- 
nezia. 

Padua  is  built  in  the  midst  of  a  vast  plain 
which  merits  being  called  Italian-Flanders.  In 
everything  but  climate  it  is  like  a  section  of 
the  Low  Countries,  and  the  city,  with  its  domes 
and  towers,  looms  up  over  the  low-lying  plain, 
faint  and  ghostly  from  afar,  like  a  mirage  of 
the  desert. 


In  Venetia  279 


Canals  and  fortress  walls  enclose  the  city 
even  to-day,  and  the  nearer  one  approaches, 
until  one  actually  sees  it  from  within  the  walls, 
the  less  and  less  Padua  becomes  like  Italy. 
The  greatest  interest  of  Padua  centres  un- 
doubtedly in  its  church  of  Sant'  Antonio,  dedi- 
cated to  the  pious  companion  of  Francis  of 
Assisi;  after  that  the  University  which  num- 
bered among  its  masters  Erasmus,  Mantius  and 
Galileo,  and  among  its  students  Dante,  Tasso 
and  Petrarch.  Padua  is  intimately  associated 
with  the  name  of  Petrarch  by  reason  of  his 
having  been  a  student  here.  Petrarch  died 
before  Chaucer's  time,  but  the  Florentine's 
fame  had  gone  afield  and  from  the  ''  Clerk's 
Tale  ' '  one  recalls  the  following : 

"  Lemed  at  Padowe  of  a  worthy  clerk, 
Fraunceys  Petrark,  the  laureat  poete, 
Highte  this  clerk,  whose  rethorike  sweet 
Enlumined  al  Itaille  of  poetrye." 

Padua  in  spite  of  its  low  lying  situation  is 
monumental  at  every  turn.  They  had  courage, 
the  old  builders,  to  plant  great  buildings  down 
in  the  morass,  and  faith  to  believe  they  would 
last  as  long  as  they  have. 

On  Padua's  great  Piazzas  —  there  are  three 
of  them,  one  leading  out  of  the  other  —  rise  the 


280     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

chief  civic  buildings  of  mediaeval  times.  The 
Loggia  del  Consiglio  is  an  astonishingly  ample 
Eenaissance  work  of  an  early  period,  access 
to  its  great  hall  being  by  a  monumental  ex- 
terior stairway.  An  ancient  column,  with  a 
San  Marco  lion  is  immediately  in  front. 

The  Palazzo  Capitano,  with  its  sky  piercing 
clock  tower  of  the  fourteenth  century,  was  for- 
merly the  residence  of  the  Venetian  Governor, 
and  the  Palazzo  della  Ragione,  known  as  II 
Salone,  contains  one  of  the  vastest  single 
roofed  apartments  known.  There  is  a  long  un- 
obstructed corridor  in  the  mosque  of  Saint  So- 
phia at  Constantinople  which  holds  the  record 
in  its  line,  but  the  Salone  of  Padua,  built  in 
1420,  is  pre-eminent  in  superticial  area. 

The  ancient  Palace  of  the  Carrera,  tyrants 
of  Padua,  is  one  of  the  things  that  burn  them- 
selves in  the  mind  from  the  sheer  inability  of 
one  to  overlook  them.  When  one  sees  the  colos- 
sal frescoes  of  the  Entrance  Hall  one  repeats 
unconsciously  the  dictum  of  Victor  Hugo  over 
Madame  Dorval  —  the  beautiful  Madame  Dor- 
val :  Je  ne  veux  pas  mourir. 

It  is  the  fashion  to  quote  Dante  and  Byron 
and  Shelley  in  Italy,  but  a  little  of  Alfred  de 
Musset  is  a  cheerful  relief.  Here  are  some  of 
his  lines  on  Padua : 


280     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

chief  civi."  '     '  i,   ...  ^^f  mediaeval  times.     The 
T/)jrtr"';  ■■].(■  :<  an  fistoni shingly  ample 

rly  period,  access 
X  monumental  ex- 
leiiui  ilumn,  with  a 

San  M;i,..w  .,.,:       .  .-    .  .1  front. 

The  Palazzo  Oapitano,  with  it^  nky  piercing 
clock  tower  of  the  fourteenth  century,  was  for- 
merly the  residence  of  the  Venetian  Governor, 
and  the  Palazzo  della  Ragione,  known  as  II 
Salone,  contains  one  of  the  vastest  single 
roofed  apartments  known.  There  is  a  long  un- 
obstructed corridor  in  the  mosque  of  Saint  So- 
phia at  Constantinople  wmm  holds  the  record 
in  its  line,  but  the  Salone  of  Padua,  built  in 
1420,  is  jtre-eminent  in  superficial  area. 

The  ancient  Palace  of  the  Carrera,  tyrants 
of  Pa*'  i sings  that  burn  them- 
selves in  lu^'  !■::;}'!  :iv.i;  rht  '  '-ility  of 
one  to  ov  i^rlook  them.  When  o; .i.e  colos- 
sal fvi*.:. '»f>H  of  the  Entrance  Hall  one  repeats 
UP  the  dictum  of  Victor  Hugo  over 
Ma<i<uur'  but val  —  the  beautiful  Madame  Dor- 
■.          ^•"  nr  vcux  pas  mourir. 

the  fashion  to  quote  Dante  and  Byron 
and  Bliolley  in  Italy,  but  a  little  of  Alfred  de 
Mussel  i.*  a  cheerful  relief.  Here  are  some  of 
his  lines  on  Padua: 


I 


In  Venetia  281 

"  Padoue  est  un  fort  bel  endroit 
Ou  de  tres-grands  docteurs  en  droit 

On  fait  merveille; 
Mais  j'aime  mieux  la  polenta 
Qu'on  mange  aux  bords  de  la  Brenta 

Sous  un  treille." 

The  Albergo  Fanti-Stella  d'Oro  at  Padua  is 
all  sufficient  as  a  tourist  hotel,  but  lacks  a  good 
deal  of  what  a  hotel  for  automobilists  should  be. 
There  is  accommodation  for  one's  automobile 
in  the  coach  house,  but  it  evidently  is  a  sepa- 
rately owned  concern,  for  when  you  come  to 
take  your  auto  out  you  will  be  followed  like  a 
thief  when  you  try  to  explain  that  you  prefer 
to  pay  the  garage  charges  when  you  pay  your 
hotel  bill.  You  may  eat  a  la  carte  in  the  hotel 
restaurant  at  any  hour,  and  you  may  have  a 
room  across  the  way  in  the  annex,  a  better  room 
and  for  a  smaller  price  than  you  can  have  at 
the  Albergo  itself.  Altogether  this  opera 
bouffe  hotel  is  neither  bad  nor  good,  and  most 
confusing  as  to  its  personnel  and  their  conduct. 
They  need  to  have  a  *'  Who's  Who,"  printed  in 
German,  French  and  English  to  put  into  the 
hands  of  each  guest  on  arrival. 

The  automobilist  has  not  yet  reached  Venice. 
The  nearest  that  he  may  come  to  it  is  to  Mestre, 
where  he  may  garage  his  automobile  in  any  one 


282     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

of  half  a  dozen  palatial  establisliments  espe- 
cially devoted  to  the  purpose.  Mestre,  of  abso- 
lutely no  rank  whatever  as  a  city  of  art  or 
architecture  or  sights  for  the  tourist,  has  more 
automobile  garages  than  any  other  city  in  Italy. 

The  splendour  of  Venice  is  undeniable, 
whether  one  takes  note  of  its  unique  architec- 
ture or  of  its  remarkable  site.  Men  with  cour- 
age to  build  gilded  and  marble  palaces  on  a 
half  submerged  chain  of  isles  scarce  above  the 
level  of  the  sea  do  not  live  to-day.  How  well 
these  early  builders  planned  is  evinced  by  the 
fact  that  Venice  the  magnificent  exists  to-day 
as  it  always  has  existed  —  all  but  the  Campa- 
nile. The  fall  of  this  shows  what  may  happen 
some  day  to  the  rest  of  this  regal  city.  When? 
No  one  knows.  Men  conquered  the  morass  in 
the  first  instance.  Can  they  hold  it  in  subjec- 
tion into  eternity? 

Venice  with  all  its  gorgeousness  is  just  the 
least  bit  triste. 

Not  a  tree  worthy  of  the  name,  not  a  garden 
or  a  farm  yard,  not  a  cart  or  a  horse  —  and 
not  an  automobile  is  to  be  found  within  its 
purlieus.  One  is  as  if  in  prison.  A  watery 
barrier  surrounds  one  on  every  side.  The  sea, 
always  the  sea,  mostly  mirror-like  or  gently 
lapping  its  waves  at  your  very  feet  —  and  black 


In  Venetia  283 


gondolas  everywhere.    Yes,  Venice  is  gorgeous, 
if  you  like,  but  how  sad  it  is  also ! 

The  greatness  of  Venice  dates  from  the  time 
of  the  fourth  crusade  and  the  taking  of  Con- 
stantinople. It  was  then  that  the  Venetian 
ships  became  the  chief  carriers  between  the 
east  and  the  west ;  its  vessels  exported  the  sur- 
plus wealth  of  the  Lombard  plain,  and  brought 
in  return  not  only  the  timber  and  stone  of 
Istria  and  Dalmatia,  but  the  manufactured 
wares  of  Christian  Constantinople,  wines  of  the 
Greek  isles,  and  the  Oriental  silks,  carpets,  and 
spices  of  Mohammedan  Egypt,  Arabia  and 
Bagdad. 

There  used  to  be  an  old  time  saying  at  Venice 
that  if  the  Isthmus  of  Suez  were  pierced  with 
a  canal  the  glory  of  Venice  would  once  more 
shine  on  the  commercial  world  as  well  as  shed 
its  radiance  over  those  who  live  in  the  sphere 
of  art.  The  Suez  Canal  has  come,  but  prophets 
are  not  infallible,  and  the  present  maritime 
glory  of  the  Adriatic  lies  with  Trieste  and 
Fiume,  with  Venice  a  shadowy  fifth  or  sixth 
in  the  whole  of  Italy. 

It  is  an  historic  fact  that  may  well  be  re- 
peated here,  that  Venice,  more  than  any  other 
city  of  Italy,  has  ever  been  noted  for  its  passion 
for  amusements  and  unconventional  pleasures. 


284     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

**  For  quite  half  of  the  year,"  said  Montes- 
quieu, "  everybody  wears  a  masque;  manners 
are  very  free  and  the  passion  for  gaming  im- 
mense." A  more  vivid  description  of  all  this 
Venetian  disregard  for  convention  may  be 
found  in  the  memoirs  of  the  Venetian  adven- 
turer Casanova. 

The  visitor  to  Venice  must  seek  out  for  him- 
self the  things  that  interest  him,  with  the  aid 
of  his  guide-book,  his  hotel  porter  or  his  gon- 
dolier. Not  all  its  splendours  can  be  pointed 
out  here;  the  record  of  the  author  and  artist 
is  a  personal  record;  others  if  they  will  may 
choose  a  different  itinerary. 

The  greatest  fascination  of  all  in  Venice  is 
undoubtedly  the  gondola,  though  the  motor 
boat  is  pushing  it  hard  for  a  place,  and  there 
be  those  matter-of-fact  hurried  tourists  who 
prefer  the  practicality  of  the  latter  to  the  sun- 
plicity  and  romance  of  the  former.  The  gon- 
dola still  reigns  however,  and  probably  always 
will.  It's  an  asset  for  drawing  tourists  as 
potent  as  the  lions  or  horses  of  San  Marco  or 
the  pigeons  of  the  Piazzas. 

The  Venetian  cannot  step  without  his  door 
without  taking  a  gondola,  for  his  promenade 
on  the  Grand  Canal,  to  cross  to  the  Lido,  or 
to  go  to  church  when  he  marries  and  when  he 


In  Venetia  285 

dies.  The  gondola  is  as  much  a  part  oi'  the  daily 
life  of  the  Veuetian  as  is  the  street  car  or  the 
omnibus  elsewhere. 

Though  it  doesn't  look  it,  the  gondola  is  the 
most  manageable  craft  propelled  by  man.  It 
snakes  in  and  out  of  crooked  waterways  and 
comes  to  a  landing  with  far  less  fuss  than  any- 
thing ever  pushed  by  steam  or  gasoline.  All 
the  same  they  are  not  as  swift,  though  their 
pace  is  astonishing  when  one  considers  their 
bulk  and  weight. 

It  has  been  the  fashion  to  laud  the  sweet 
idealism  of  the  gondola  and  all  that  appertains 
thereto,  not  forgetting  the  gondolier,  but  when 
one  has  heard  that  backwater  sailor's  cajoleries 
and  cadences  beneath  his  window  for  most  of 
the  long  night  one's  views  in  the  morning  will 
be  considerably  modified.  "  Cousin  of  my 
dog!  "  the  gondolier  will  call  his  gondola, 
''  Owl!  "  ''  Idiot!  "  "  Sheriff  of  the  Devil!  " 
'*  Silly  Ass!  "  "  Miscreant  of  Rhodes!  "  and 
''  Bag  of  Bones."  Such  epithets  shouted  full 
and  strong,  if  only  to  an  inanimate  gondola, 
will  take  a  good  deal  of  idealism  out  of  nature. 

With  the  Venetian  palaces  and  churches  and 
canals  rank  in  popular  interest  its  great  piaz- 
zas. The  importance  of  these  great  open  spaces 
in  the  daily  life  of  the  people  of  the  island  city 


286     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

cannot  be  overestimated.  Gaiety,  noise  and  life 
are  the  characteristics  of  each,  whether  one  is 
at  San  Marco  or  on  the  Rialto. 

Gastronomical  delights  in  Italy  are  largely 
of  one's  own  choosing.  At  Venice,  where,  of 
Italian  cities,  the  tourist  is  most  largely  catered 
to,  one  may  fare  well  or  ill. 

It's  a  great  experience  to  sit  at  one  of  the 
little  tables  at  Florian's,  or  at  the  Aurora  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  Piazza  of  San  Marco, 
and  leisurely  enjoy  the  spectacle  spread  out 
before  one.  At  any  time  of  the  day  or  night 
it  is  the  most  burning,  feverish  spot  in  all  the 
Venetian  archipelago,  though  at  midday,  it  is 
true,  the  sun-baked  Piazza  is  deserted,  even  by 
the  pigeons. 

In  the  afternoon,  as  the  shadows  lengthen, 
and  a  slim  suspicion  of  a  sea-breeze  wafts  in 
from  the  lagunes,  it  is  fairyland,  peopled,  if 
not  with  fairyfolk,  at  least  with  as  conglom- 
erate a  horde  as  may  be  seen  in  Europe,  As 
a  performance  the  piece  were  almost  worthy 
of  its  setting;  it  is  a  burlesque  and  a  comedy 
of  manners  in  one.  If  only  you  are  ''  out  of 
season,"  when  the  English  and  Americans  and 
Germans  are  still  by  their  own  firesides,  and 
the  cast  of  characters  is  made  up  of  the  peoples 
of  the  south  and  east,  the  comedy  is  all  the  more 


In  Venetia  287 

amusing,  and  you  sip  its  charms  as  you  sip  your 
coffee  and  forget  that  such  a  personage  as 
Baedeker  ever  existed.  Usually  tourists  come 
to  the  Piazza,  after  they  have  done  the  sur- 
rounding stock  sights,  to  buy  two  soldi-worth 
of  maize  and  feed  the  pigeons.  They  would 
do  better  to  watch  the  passing  show  from  the 
vantage  point  of  a  little  table  at  Florian's. 

Besides  its  treasures  of  art  and  architecture, 
one  of  the  sights  of  Venice  is  Florian's,  cele- 
brated for  a  hundred  and  fifty  years.  The  spe- 
cialty of  Florian's  is  the  sabaion  doro,  made 
with  the  yellow  of  an  e^g  and  a  small  glass  of 
Malaga.  It  is  not  bad,  but  it  is  a  ladies'  drink, 
for  it  is  sweet.  The  sorbets,  the  cafe  turc'  and 
the  vanilla  chocolates  of  the  establishment,  with 
flie  aforementioned  golden  concoction,  have 
placed  it  in  the  very  front  rank  among  estab- 
lishments of  its  class.  It  remains  open,  or  did 
a  few  years  ago,  all  night.  At  five  o'clock  each 
morning,  as  the  daylight  gun  went  off  from  the 
fortress  of  the  Lido,  Florian's  put  up  its  shut- 
ters, only  to  open  just  before  midday. 

The  names  of  the  great  who  have  gathered 
within  the  walls  of  this  famous  cafe,  and  left 
memories  behind  them,  would  fill  a  long  roster. 
Chateaubriand,  Manzoni,  Byron,  Cimarosa, 
Canova,    Leopold-Robert,    Alfred    de    Musset, 


288     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

Balzac  and  others,  many,  many  others.  And 
many  have  left  behind  written  souvenirs  of 
their  visit. 

One  thing  the  stranger  to  Venice  will  remark, 
and  that  is  that  here,  as  much  as  in  any  other 
place  in  Italy,  one  is  pestered  nearly  to  dis- 
traction with  the  little  * '  extras  ' '  of  their  hotel 
bills,  of  the  too-importunate  guides,  of  door- 
openers  and  door  shutters,  of  guardians  of  all 
ranks,  of  men  and  boys  who  call  your  gondola 
for  you,  and  of  mendicant  ragamuffins  by  pro- 
fession, or  merely  because  occasion  offered  and 
you  looked  like  an  "  easy  mark."  It  is  the 
one  blight  on  Venice. 

The  modest  inns  of  other  days  have  given 
way  to  the  demands  of  a  more  exacting  clien- 
tele, but  those  who  would  follow  Alfred  de 
Musset  and  George  Sand  from  the  Palace  of 
the  Doges  to  the  Hotel  Danieli  will  have  no 
trouble  in  getting  a  lodging  in  that  hostelry. 
Or  they  may  prefer  to  follow  the  footsteps  of 
Chateaubriand  (who  in  truth  was  anticipating 
a  rendezvous  with  the  Duchesse  de  Berry)  to 
the  neighbouring  Hotel  de  1 'Europe. 

Venice's  Grand  Canal  is  naturally  the  chief 
delight  of  the  visiting  stranger.  The  Canalazzo 
is  from  fifty  to  seventy  metres  wide  with  a 
length   of  three  kilometres.     A  hundred   and 


In  Venetia 


289 


^p«dopol( 


'V\   Yi,  (  Musi..  Cnn«Sr  I  /-^ 


6^f8tinlao  da) 

Bra 


ideme'"* 


.  ibecodeiTftdesch 


Rez, 


Contsri 


PALACES 

oftAe 

VENICE 


290     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

fifty  or  more  palaces  line  its  banks,  most  of 
them  bearing  famous  names  of  history.  Shop- 
keepers and  manufacturers  of  various  sorts 
occupy  many  of  them,  but  they  are  still  capable 
of  staggering  any  otherwise  blase  curiosity- 
seekers.  The  accompanying  map  with  these 
palaces  plainly  marked  should  serve  its  pur- 
pose better  than  quires  of  printed  pages. 

Shakespeare's  "  Jew  of  Venice  "  was  no 
myth,  whatever  the  shadowy  existence  of  Juliet 
and  Desdemona  may  have  been.  Venice  in  the 
middle  ages  had  its  Ghetto  (a  word  which  in 
Hebrew  means  "  cut  off  "  or  *^  shut  off  ") 
where  the  Jews  herded  together  and  wore  scar- 
let mantles  in  public  that  they  might  be  known 
and  recognized  by  faith  and  profession.  The 
principal  character  of  ''  The  Merchant  of 
Venice  "  was  a  very  real  entity,  and  Shake- 
speare, believing  the  saying  of  Tacitus,  wrote 
him  down  truthfully  as  a  man  scrupulously 
faithful  to  his  engagements,  charitable  to  others 
of  his  race,  but  filled  with  an  invincible  hatred 
towards  all  other  men. 

Another  Venetian  type,  not  wholly  disap- 
peared to-day,  is  that  of  the  Venetian  blonde 
of  Titian,  Veronese  and  Giorgione,  a  type  of 
feminine  beauty  unknown  elsewhere.  Italians 
are  commonly  bininettes,  and  indeed  perhaps 


The  So-called  "  House  of  Desde?nona,"   Venice 


In  Venetia  291 

the  Venetians  were  of  the  same  teint  one  day. 
In  the  Library  of  San  Marco  is  a  parchment  of 
Caesar  Vecelli,  a  Cousin  of  Titian,  coming  from 
the  collections  of  the  patrician  Nani.  It  de- 
scribes how  there  were  built  at  Venice  ma^y 
house  tops  with  sun  parlours  or  terrazi.  To 
these  terrazi  the  women  of  the  city  of  the  Doges, 
who  would  bleach  their  hair  by  natural  means, 
would  repair  and  let  the  sun  do  its  work. 

Casanova,  too,  remarked  the  feminine  beau- 
ties of  the  Queen  of  the  Adriatic.  He  said  of 
one  of  them:  "  I  am  content  indeed  to  find  so 
beautiful  a  creature.  I  do  not  conceive  how  so 
ravishing  a  creature  could  have  lived  so  long 
in  Venice  without  having  married  ere  now," 

As  night  draws  down,  the  scene  at  Venice 
changes  manifestly  from  what  it  was  in  the 
garish  sunlight  of  day.  It  becomes  softer  and 
more  fairylike.  Across  the  Piazzetta  the  rosy 
flush  still  glints  from  the  tower  of  the  island 
San  Giorgio,  though  in  the  immediate  neigh- 
bourhood day  has  practically  blackened  into 
night.  A  sunset  gun  sounds  from  seaward  and 
here  and  there  lights  twinkle  out  when,  in  the 
magic  of  a  very  short  twilight,  another  scene  is 
set,  a  more  wonderful,  more  fairylike  scene  than 
before,  with  a  coming  and  going  of  firefly  gon- 
dolas and  boats,  a  streaming  of  arcs  and  incan- 


292     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

descents  on  shore,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  all  a 
brass  band  arrives  in  front  of  San  Marco  and 
begins  to  bray  ragtime  waltzes  and  serenades. 
The  note  may  be  a  false  one,  but  it  reiterates 
the  fact  that  one  may  sit  before  his  table  at 
Florian  's  all  through  the  livelong  day  and  night 
and  see  and  hear  the  whole  gamut  of  joyousness 
played  as  it  is  nowhere  else.  The  townfolk,  the 
strangers  from  the  hotels,  and  sailor  folk  from 
the  Lido  and  the  Guiadecca  all  mingle  in  a 
seemingly  inextricable  maze.  These  last  are  the 
most  picturesque  note  as  to  costmning  and  col- 
ouring in  all  Venice  to-day. 

The  fishermen  of  the  Guiadecca,  swarthy 
hued  and  scarlet-capped,  and  with  heavy  hoops 
of  gold  hanging  from  their  ears,  stroll  about 
the  piazza  as  is  their  right,  mingling  with  tour- 
ists and  the  ''  real  Venetians."  All  move  about 
in  lively  measure  like  an  operatic  chorus,  but 
with  a  much  more  graceful  and  less  conscious 
gait. 

Night  on  the  Piazza  or  the  Piazzetta  is  not 
the  least  of  Venice's  charms. 

The  background  hills  bordering  upon  the 
Venetian  plain  are  a  very  interesting  corner  of 
northern  Italy.  Throughout  this  region  sou- 
venirs are  not  wanting  of  the  glorious  days  of 
the  Venetian  Republic. 


In  Venetia  293 


For  her  own  protection  Veniee  conquered  the 
surrounding  mainland  as  she  was  laying  the 
foundations  of  the  island  metropolis.  Treviso 
fell  to  her  permanently  in  1339,  and  Udine  in 
1420,  as  did  later  many  other  towns  to  the  south. 
From  this  time  forth  the  lion  of  San  Marco 
reared  its  head  from  its  pedestal  in  the  market 
place  of  each  of  these  allied  towns.  Some  five 
thousand  square  miles  of  Dalmatia  came  to 
Venice  at  this  time  and  thenceforth  her  position 
was  assured.  Venice  was  occupied  by  the 
French  in  1797  when  Napoleon  overthrew  the 
Republic.  It  was  the  first  time  the  city  had 
ever  been  occupied  by  an  enemy.  It  was  given 
to  Austria  by  a  succeeding  treaty,  but  later  in 
1805  was  made  over  definitely  to  Italy. 

Treviso,  on  the  highroad  from  Venice  to 
Vienna,  is  a  great  overgrown  burg  which  lives 
chiefly  in  the  historic  past  of  the  days  when  first 
it  became  a  bishop's  see  and  was  known  as 
Trovisium,  the  capital  of  the  province  of  the 
same  name. 

A  story  is  current  of  Treviso  that  once  the 
people,  to  celebrate  one  of  the  infrequent  in- 
tervals of  peace,  had  summoned  all  the  neigh- 
bouring populations  to  a  splendid  festival. 
Among  other  amusements  they  had  provided  a 
mimic  castle  of  wood,    adorned   in  the   most 


294     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

sumptuous  manner.  Within  this  castle  were 
stationed  the  twelve  most  beautiful  ladies  of 
Padua,  with  their  attendant  maidens,  loaded 
down  with  all  kinds  of  flowers  and  fruits.  The 
chosen  youths  of  the  neighbouring  cities  ad- 
vanced in  bands  to  attack  the  fortress  defended 
by  such  a  garrison.  The  ladies  made  a  long 
and  vigorous  defence.  But  finally  a  band  of 
Venetians  pressed  forward  through  the  rain 
of  projectiles,  breached  the  walls,  and  planted 
on  them  the  banner  of  San  Marco.  The  youth 
of  Padua,  inflamed  at  this  sight,  pressed  for- 
ward in  turn  to  force  their  way  inside  the  for- 
tifications. The  two  bands  were  crushed  to- 
gether in  the  breach ;  angry  words  arose ;  from 
words  both  parties  came  to  blows ;  the  Paduans 
proved  the  stronger  and  in  the  struggle  seized 
on  the  banner  of  San  Marco  and  tore  it  to 
shreds.  With  difficulty  the  Trevisans  restored 
order  and  drove  both  parties  out  of  the  town. 
The  Venetians  flew  to  arms  to  demand  satisfac- 
tion for  the  outrage  to  their  flag.  The  Govern- 
ment of  Padua  refused  it.  Hence  a  war  be- 
tween the  two  cities,  in  which  the  Paduans 
were  worsted. 

From  Treviso  to  Belluno,  and  thence  by  the 
Ampesso  Pass,  is  one  of  the  gateways  leading 
from  the  Italian  plain  into  Austria.     Feltre, 


In  Venetia  295 


en  route,  has  a  fine  old  "  Eocca,"  or  castle, 
with  a  square  donjon  tower. 

En  route  to  Belluno  one  should,  if  he  comes 
this  way  at  all,  branch  off  to  Asolo.  Among  the 
many  hundreds  of  visitors  to  Venice  who  for- 
merly climbed  to  the  top  of  the  Campanile  of 
San  Marco  in  order  to  enjoy  the  wonderful 
panorama  of  the  Venetian  plain  and  mountains 
which  it  affords,  few,  probably,  recall  the  dis- 
tant little  city  of  Asolo  which  the  guide  pointed 
out  to  them,  unless,  indeed,  they  happen  to  be 
familiar  with  Robert  Browning's  pooms,  in 
which  case  they  will,  perhaps,  wish  to  make  a 
pilgrimage  out  into  these  background  hills  the 
poet  loved  so  well:  *'  My  Asolo,"  as  he  called 
it  in  the  introduction  to  the  last  volume  of  his 
poems,  ''  Asolando,"  written  during  his  stay 
there  in  1889.  A  trip  among  the  Asolan  Hills 
will  well  repay  not  only  the  lover  of  poetry, 
but  also  the  artist  and  the  ordinary  traveller 
with  a  liking  for  quiet,  picturesque  spots  off  the 
ordinary  beaten  track. 

The  Albergo  Asolo,  in  the  main  street,  offers 
clean  and  characteristic  accommodation  with 
charges  to  correspond.  One  turns  off  to  Asolo 
from  Cornuda,  a  station  on  the  Belluno  line,  or 
by  road  from  the  same  place.  The  imposing 
ruined  Rocca  is  well  worthy  of  a  visit  for  the 


296     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 


In  Venetia  297 


sake  of  the  extensive  view  obtainable  from  the 
hill  on  which  it  stands.  On  a  clear  day  the 
towers  of  Venice  can  be  seen  without  a  glass, 
and  on  every  side  the  view  is  remarkably  fine. 
To  the  north,  beyond  the  nearer  range  of  moun- 
tains, are  visible  several  peaks  in  the  Primiero 
group  of  Dolomites  —  the  Sasso  del  Mur,  Sa- 
gron,  and  others.  Another  good  point  of  view 
is  the  belfry  tower  of  the  old  Caste]  lo  which 
was  the  residence  of  Queen  Cornaro,  the  de- 
posed Queen  of  Cyprus,  whose  gay  court  made 
the  name  of  Asolo  famous  at  the  end  of  the 
fifteenth  century.  ^ 

From  Treviso  the  road  to  Udine  passes 
Conegliano,  with  a  fine  castle  of  imposing  pro- 
portions and  a  TriumjDhal  Arch  erected  in  the 
nineteenth  century  to  the  Emperor  of  Austria. 

Pordenone,  ten  kilometres  farther  on,  is  the 
old  Portus  Naonis  of  the  Romans.  This  is  al- 
most its  sole  claim  to  fame,  except  that  "  II 
Pordenone, ' '  a  celebrated  fifteenth  century  art- 
ist, was  born  here. 

Codroipo,  actually  a  place  of  no  importance 
to-day,  takes  its  name  from  the  crossing  of  two 
celebrated  Roman  roads  of  antiquity.  Cod- 
roipo, by  a  vague  etymological  sequence,  is 
supposed  to  have  the  sam^e  meaning  as  carre- 
four  in  French,  i.  e.  quadrivium. 


298     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

At  Campo  Formico,  just  before  Udine  is 
reached,  Bonaparte  and  the  Emperor  of  Aus- 
tria signed  the  treaty,  in  October,  1797,  by 
which  Venice  was  so  shamefully  sacrificed  by 
the  French  general  to  Austria.  It  was  one  of 
the  deepest  blots  in  the  political  history  of  Na- 
poleon. The  mean  house  in  which  this  disas- 
trous treaty  was  concluded  is  still  pointed 
out. 

It  was  in  the  Villa  Passarino,  near  Udine, 
that  this  infamous  treaty  saw  the  light.  Its 
gardens  to-day  are  of  the  mixed  formal  and 
landscape  variety,  and  great  renown  belongs  to 
it  because  of  the  prominence  of  the  Manins,  its 
early  owners.  Borghetti  restored  the  fabric  in 
1763,  and  it  remains  to-day  a  far  more  satis- 
factory structure  to  look  at  than  many  which 
are  architecturally  entitled  to  rank  on  a  higher 
plane.  Cypress  and  oak  form  the  greater  part 
of  the  verdure  of  the  gardens. 

Udine,  of  the  picturesque  name,  is  a  city  of 
twenty  thousand  inhabitants,  once  the  capital 
of  Friuli,  and  still  surrounded  by  its  ancient 
walls.  In  the  centre  is  the  castle,  now  a  prison, 
built  in  1517  by  Giovanni  Fontana  on  the  height 
chosen  by  Attila  to  view  the  burning  of  Aqui- 
leja.  Udine  presents  many  features  of  resem- 
blance in  its  buildings  to  the  mother  city,  to 


In  Venetia  299 


whose  rule  it  was  so  long  subjected :  it  has  its 
grand  square,  its  Palazzo  Publico,  (1457) — a 
jfine  Gothic  building  on  pointed  arches  instead 
of  the  Doge 's  palace  —  the  two  columns,  the 
winged  lion  of  San  Marco,  and  a  campanile  with 
two  figures  to  strike  the  hours.  Udine  is  in- 
deed a  little  Venice,  all  but  the  canals  and 
quays  and  the  Adriatic's  waves. 

South  of  Udine,  on  the  marshy  shore  of  the 
same  series  of  lagoons  which  surround  Venice 
itself,  is  Aquileja.  Aquileja  was  in  ancient 
times  one  of  the  most  important  provincial 
cities  of  Eome,  and  one  of  the  chief  bulwarks 
of  Italy.  Augustus  often  resided  here,  and  its 
population  was  then  estimated  at  100,000.  It 
was  taken  by  Attila  in  452,  and  redifced  to  ashes 
by  that  ferocious  barbarian.  It  contains  at 
present  about  1,500  inhabitants,  and  even  they 
have  a  hard  time  clinging  to  the  shreds  of  life 
left  them  by  a  climate  that  is  pestilential  and 
damp. 

From  Venice  and  Treviso  the  Strada  di 
Grande  Communicazione  runs  to  Vicenza  and 
Verona,  the  former  63  kilometres  from  Treviso 
and  the  latter  50  kilometres  farther  on.  At 
Vicenza  the  highroad  is  joined  by  another 
trunk-line  from  Padua,  32  kilometres  to  the 
southwest.    All  of  these  roads  are  practically 


300     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 


flat  and  are  good  roads  in  good  weather  and 
bad  roads  —  0 !  how  bad !  —  in  bad  weather. 
Few  strangers  stop  off  at  Vicenza,  on  the  line 


from  Verona  to  Venice.  Vicenza,  then,  is  not 
lettered  large  in  the  guide  books,  and  has  only 
appeared  of  late  in  the  public  prints  because  of 
being  the  home  of  the  romancer,  Antonio  Fo- 
gazzora.    This  makes  it  a  literary  shrine  at  all 


In  Venetia  301 

events,  so  we  stopped  to  look  it  over.  It  was 
more  than  this ;  we  first  saw  Vicenza  by  moon- 
light, and  its  silhouettes  and  shadows  were  as 
grimly  ancient  as  if  seen  in  a  dream.  Daylight 
discovered  other  charms.  There  were  warm, 
lovable  old  Renaissance  house  fronts  every- 
where, with  overhanging  tiled  roofs  and  ad- 
vanced grilled  balconies;  and  there  was  the 
Piazza  dei  Signori  and  its  surrounding  houses, 
almost  entirely  the  work  of  the  architect  Pal- 
ladio. 

The  Municipio  itself  was  not  a  dead,  dull 
thing  in  drab  stone,  but  with  a  warm  red  tower, 
brought  entire,  it  is  said,  from  Venice,  along 
with  two  columns  of  the  fagade  which  are  borne 
aloft  on  two  sculptured  lions. 

Vicenza,  the  neglected  tourist  point,  was  of- 
fering much,  and  we  were  glad  we  came. 

Vicenza,  more  than  any  other  of  the  little 
frequented  tourist  cities  of  Italy,  may  be 
counted  as  the  city  of  palaces.  They  are  of 
two  non-contemporary  styles,  the  Venetian 
semi-go thic  of  a  good  era,  and  Palladio's  clas- 
sical copies,  also  good  of  their  kind,  particularly 
so  when  seen  here  in  their  natural  environment. 

In  the  Corso  is  a  curious  monumental  struc- 
ture called  the  Casa  di  Palladio,  built  it  is  said 
by  the  great  architect  for  his  own  use.    He  had 


302     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

need  for  it  as  his  work  here  was  great  and  long 
in  completion.  It  is  something  more  than  a 
mere  architect's  office  or  bureau;  it  is  in  fact 
a  palace. 

One  of  the  most  curious  buildings  in  the  city, 
and  certainly  one  of  the  most  remarkable  with 
which  the  name  of  Palladio  is  connected,  is  the 
Teatro  Olimpico.  Contrary  to  the  architect's 
manner  of  working,  the  edifice  has  no  fa§ade, 
being  entirely  surrounded  by  houses.  It  was 
begun  in  1580,  but  in  consequence  of  his  death 
almost  immediately  afterwards  it  was  com- 
pleted by  his  son,  Scilla. 

The  scenery,  which  is  fixed,  represents  the 
side  of  a  species  of  piazza,  from  which  diverge 
streets  of  real  elevation,  but  diminishing  in  size 
as  they  recede  in  the  perspective.  A  great 
effect  of  distance  is  obtained,  especially  in  the 
middle  avenue.  Daylight,  however,  by  which  a 
traveller  usually  sees  it,  is  injurious  to  the 
effect. 

Palladio 's  architectural  ideas  went  abroad 
even  to  England  and  many  a  "  stately  home  " 
in  Britain  to-day  is  a  more  or  less  faithful  copy 
of  a  Vicenza  sixteenth  century  palazzo. 

The  Rotonda  Capra,  now  in  ruins,  so  well 
known  as  Palladio 's  villa,  was  copied  by  Lord 
Burlington    and   planted    squat   down   on   the 


V. 


tcenza 


In  Venetia  303 


banks  of  the  Thames  at  Chiswick.  It  loses 
considerably  by  transportation;  it  were  de- 
cidedly more  effective  at  the  base  of  Monte 
Berico  in  Venezia. 

Palladio  himself  is  buried  in  the  local  Campo 
Santo.  His  grave  should  become  an  art  lover's 
shrine,  but  no  one  has  ever  been  known  to  wor- 
ship at  it. 

Between  Vicenza  and  Verona  runs  a  charm- 
ing highway,  strewn  with  villas  of  a  highly  in- 
teresting if  not  superlatively  grand  architec- 
tural order. 

A  dozen  or  fifteen  kilometres  from  Vicenza 
are  the  two  castles  of  Montecchio,  the  strong- 
holds of  the  family  of  the  name  celebrated  by 
Shakespere  as  one  of  the  rivals  of  the  Capulets. 

At  the  Bridge  of  Arcole  is  an  obelisk  in  com- 
memoration of  the  battle  when  Napoleon  went 
against  the  Austrians  after  his  check  at  Cal- 
diero. 

Soave,  a  little  further  on,  is  an  old  walled 
town  as  mediaeval  in  its  looks  and  doings  as  it 
was  when  its  great  gates  and  towers  and  its 
castle  fortress  on  the  height  were  built  six  cen- 
turies ago. 

Verona  is  reached  in  thirty  kilometres  and 
has  a  sentimental,  romantic  interest  beyond 
that  possessed  by  any  of  the  secondary  cities 


304     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

of  Italy.  It  has  not  the  great  wealth  of  notable 
architectural  splendours  of  many  other  places, 
but  what  there  is  is  superlatively  grand,  the 
structures  surrounding  the  Piazza  Erbe  and  the 


Seal  of  Verona 


Piazza  dei  Signori,  for  instance ;  the  old  Ponte 
di  Castel  Vecchio ;  the  great  Roman  Arena ;  and 
even  the  Albergo  all'  Accademia,  where  one  is 
remarkably  well  cared  for  in  a  fine  old  mediae- 
val palace  with  a  monumental  gateway,  and  an 
iron  and  carved  stone  well  in  the  courtyard. 


In  Venetia  305 

The  glory  and  sentiment  which  overshadowed 
the  Verona  of  another  day  have  passed,  and 
now  the  noise  of  electric  trams  and  the  hoot  of 
automobile  horns  awaken  the  echoes  in  the  same 
thoroughfares  where  one  day  trampled  the  feet 
of  warring  hosts, 

"  The  glory  of  the  Scaliger  has  passed, 
The  Capuletti  and  Montague  are  naught : " 

Instead  we  have  the  modern  note  sounding 
over  all,  and,  if  it  is  true  that  the  "  fair  Juliet 
sleeps  in  old  Verona's  town  "  hers  must  be  a 
disturbed  sleep.  The  romance  of  Juliet  Capulet 
and  Romeo  Montague  was  real  enough ;  that  is, 
there  was  a  real  romance  of  the  sort,  and  there 
were  real  Capulets  and  Montagues.  Just  where 
the  scene  of  this  particular  romance  was  laid 
one  is  not  so  sure. 

The  ''  House  of  Juliet  "  at  Verona,  one  of 
the  stock  sights  of  the  guide  books,  is  of  more 
than  doubtful  authenticity.  Certainly,  to  begin 
with,  it  does  not  comport  in  the  least  with  the 
dignified  marble  palace  and  its  halls  with  which 
the  stage-carpenter  has  built  up  the  settings  of 
Shakespere's  drama  or  Gounod's  opera.  Per- 
haps they  embroidered  too  much.  Of  course 
they  did! 

In  1905  the  ''  Juliet  House  "  was  in  danger 


306     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

of  collapsing.  As  it  is  nothing  more  than  a 
picturesque  old  house,  such  as  northern  Italy 
abounds  in,  perhaps  it  would  not  have  mat- 
tered much  had  it  fallen.  It  is  no  more  Juliet's 
house  than  Juliet's  tomb  is  the  tomb  of  Juliet. 
This  indeed  has  latterly  been  adjudged  a  mere 
water-trough.  No  house,  it  is  asserted,  in 
Verona  to-day  can  be  declared  with  certainty 
as  the  house  of  a  Montague  or  a  Capulet. 
Henry  James  points  the  moral  of  all  this  in 
' '  The  Custodians, ' '  and  whether  we  can  always 
make  head  and  tail  out  of  his  dialogues  or  not, 
his  judgments  are  always  sound. 

In  Verona  the  very  gutters  are  of  white  mar- 
ble. Balustrades,  window-sills  and  hitching 
posts  are  all  of  white  or  coloured  marbles. 
Verona  is  luxurious,  if  not  magnificent,  and  its 
architecture  is  marvellously  interesting  and 
beautiful,  though  frequently  rising  to  no  great 
rank. 

The  great  Roman  Arena,  so  admirably  pre- 
served, is  surrounded  by  the  Piazza  Vittorio 
Emanuele.  The  contrast  between  yesterday 
and  to-day  at  Verona  is  everywhere  to  be  re- 
marked. Its  old  Arena  and  the  Visconti  gate- 
way seen  by  moonlight  look  as  ancient  as  any- 
thing on  earth,  but  the  cafes  with  their  tables 
set  out  right  across  the  Piazza,  with  a  band 


In  Venetia  307 

playing  on  a  temporary  platform,  set  up  on 
trestles  in  the  middle,  and  electric  trams  swish- 
ing around  the  corner,  are  as  modern  as  Earl's 
Court  or  Coney  Island,  without  however  many 
of  their  drawbacks. 

Verona  is  a  city  of  marble  and  coloured 
stone,  of  terraces  and  cypresses  and  all  the  Ital- 
ian accessories  which  stagecraft  has  borrowed 
for  its  Shakesperean  settings.  The  cypresses 
planted  around  the  outskirts  of  Verona  are  said 
to  be  the  oldest  in  Europe,  but  that  is  doubtful. 
They  are,  some  of  them,  perhaps  four  hundred 
years  old,  but  on  the  shores  of  the  Etang  de 
Berre,  in  old  Provence,  is  a  group  of  these  same 
trees,  less  lean,  greater  of  girth  and  denser  of 
foliage.  Surely  these  must  have  five  hundred 
years  to  their  credit  according  to  Verona  stand- 
ards. 

Verona  is  one  of  the  cities  of  celebrated  art 
where  the  authorities  control  one's  desire  to  dig 
about  with  a  view  to  discovering  buried  antiq- 
uities, even  in  one's  own  cellar  or  garden ;  much 
less  may  one  sell  an  old  chimney  pot  or  urn. 

Recently  a  Signor  and  Signora  Castello,  who 
owned  an  ancient  house  in  Via  del  Seminario, 
sold  the  magnificent  red  marble  portals  and 
two  balconies  without  permission  from  the  Gov- 
ernment.    They  were  fined  two  thousand  five 


308      Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

hundred  lire  each,  and  ordered  to  replace  the 
objects  of  art. 

After  a  long  chase  the  Verona  police  discov- 
ered the  articles  in  a  warehouse  where  they  had 
been  temporarily  deposited  previous  to  ship- 
ping them  abroad. 

The  balconies  are  of  the  same  epoch  as  the 
famous  one  said  to  have  been  the  scene  of  the 
meeting  of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  "  American  col- 
lectors keep  off  "  is  the  sign  the  Verona  police 
would  probably  put  up  if  they  dared. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THROUGH    ITALIAN    LAKELAND 

The  lake  region  of  the  north  is  perhaps  the 
most  romantic  in  all  Italy;  certainly  its  memo- 
ries have  much  appeal  to  the  sentimentally  in- 
clined. Indeed  the  tourists  are  so  passionately 
fond  of  the  Italian  lakeland  that  they  leave  it 
no  ''  close  "  season,  but  are  everywhere  to  be 
remarked,  from  Peschiera  on  the  east  to  Orta 
on  the  west.  Seemingly  they  are  all  honey- 
moon couples  and  seek  seclusion,  and  are 
therefore  less  offensive  than  the  general  run  of 
conducted  parties  which  now  '^  do  "  the  Italian 
round  for  a  ten  pound  note  from  London,  or 
the  same  thing  from  New  York  for  a  couple  of 
hundred  dollars. 

It  is  the  fashion  to  revile  the  automobilist  as 
a  hurried  traveller,  but  he  at  least  gets  a  sniff 
of  the  countryside  en  route  which  the  others 
do  not. 

Coming  from  the  east  through  Verona,  the 
traveller  by  road  might  do  worse  than  make 

809 


310     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

a  detour  of  a  hundred  kilometres  out  and  back 
to  Mantua. 

Mantua,  on  the  banks  of  the  Mincio,  sits  like 
a  water-surrounded  town  of  the  Low  Countries. 
Mantua,  above  all,  is  a  place  of  war,  one  of  the 
strongest  in  North  Italy,  forming  with  Verona, 
Legnago  and  Peschiera  the  famous  ''  Quadri- 
latera."  Mantua  has  at  least  a  tenth  part  of 
its  population  made  up  of  Jews.  It  sits  partly 
surrounded  by  an  artificial  lake  formed  by  the 
Mincio,  and  the  marsh  land  to  the  south  can  be 
flooded,  if  it  is  deemed  advisable,  in  case  of 
siege.  A  great  walled  enclosure,  a  series  of 
fortified  dykes,  and  a  collection  of  detached 
forts  roundabout,  put  Mantua  in  a  class  quite 
by  itself.  It  is  a  melancholy,  unlovely  place 
from  an  aesthetic  standpoint,  but  picturesque  in 
a  certain  crude  way.  The  ancient  Palazzo  Gon- 
zague  of  the  Dukes  of  Mantua,  now  known  as 
the  Corte  Eeale,  is  one  of  the  most  ambitious 
edifices  of  its  class  in  Italy.  The  view  of  the 
Palazzo  Ducale  at  Mantua,  with  the  rising 
background  of  roofs,  towers  and  domes,  as  seen 
from  the  further  end  of  the  cobble-stone  paved 
bridge  over  the  Mincio,  is  delightful.  Artists 
do  not  like  it  as  a  general  rule  because  of  the 
ugly  straight  line  of  the  bridge,  and  the  ' '  cam- 
era fiend  "  makes  a  hopeless  mess  of  it,  unless 


Through  Italian  Lakeland         311 

he  seeks  an  liour  or  more  for  a  *'  point  of 
view;  "  but  for  all  that  the  scene  is  as  quaint 
and  beautiful  a  composition  as  one  can  get  of 
unspoiled   mediaevalism    in   these   progressive 


ducAl 

MANTUA 

times,  when  usually  telegraph  poles  and  tram 
cars  project  themselves  into  focus  whether  or 
no.    There  is  nothing  of  the  kind  here. 

The  road  from  Mantua  to  Cremona,  following 
the  banks  of  the  Mincio,  still  preserves  its  Vir- 
gilian  aspect.    Mantua  vce  miserm  nimium  vi- 


312      Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

cina  Cremonce.  From  this  one  infers  that  it 
is  a  bad  road,  and  in  truth  it  is  very  bad ;  auto- 
mobilists  will  not  like  it.  Cremona's  tower  is 
seen  from  afar,  like  the  sailors'  beacon  from 
the  sea.  It  is  one  of  the  most  hardy  and  the 
most  renowned  Gothic  towers  of  Italy  and  has 
a  height  approximating  a  hundred  and  twenty 
odd  metres,  say  a  little  less  than  four  hundred 
feet. 

Neighbouring  upon  this  great  Torrazo  is  the 
Palazzo  Gonfaloneri,  dating  from  1292.  These 
two  monmnents,  together  with  the  magnificent 
Romanesque  Lombard  Cathedral  of  the  twelfth 
century,  and  the  Casa  Stradivari  —  where  he 
who  gave  his  name  to  a  violin  lived  —  are 
Mantua's  chief  ''  things  to  see."  If  the  trav- 
eller can  include  Mantua  in  his  itinerary,  which 
truth  to  tell  is  not  easy  without  doubling  on 
one's  tracks,  he  should  do  so. 

Travellers  coming  westward  from  Venice  and 
passing  Verona,  hastening  to  the  Italian  and 
Swiss  lakes,  usually  give  that  region  lying  be- 
tween Verona  and  Como  little  heed.  Naples, 
Rome,  Florence,  Venice  and  then  Switzerland 
and  the  Rhine  is  still  too  often  the  itinerary  of 
hurried  papas  and  fond  mamas.  Even  if  the 
automobilist  does  not  drop  down  on  Mantua 
and  Cremona  he  should  take  things  leisurely 


Through  Italian  Lakeland         313 

through  the  lake  region  and  stop  en  route  as 
often  as  fancy  wills.  The  Lago  di  Garda  is  the 
most  easterly  of  the  Italian  Lakes  and  the 
largest. 

It  is  of  great  depth,  350  metres  or  more,  is 
sixty  odd  kilometres  in  length,  and  in  places 
a  third  as  wide.  It  is  a  product  of  the  rivers 
and  torrents  flowing  down  from  the  mountains 
of  the  Italian  Tyrol.  The  sudden  storms  which 
frequently  come  up  to  ruffle  its  bosom  were 
celebrated  by  some  lines  of  Virgil  and  his  ex- 
ample has  been  followed  by  every  other  trav- 
eller ever  caught  in  one  of  these  storms. 
''  Fluctibus  et  fremitu  assurgens  "  sang  the 
bard,  and  the  words  still  echo  down  through 
time. 

Peschiera  and  Desenzano  are  the  principal 
ports  at  the  southern  end  of  the  lake,  and  each 
in  its  way  is  trying  to  be  a  ''  resort."  The 
environs  are  charming  and  the  towns  them- 
selves interesting  enough,  though  chiefly  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  artist.  The  seeker 
after  the  gaieties  and  pleasures  of  the  great 
watering  places  will  find  nothing  of  the  sort 
here. 

Between  Peschiera  and  Desenzano  juts  out 
the  promontory  of  Sermione.  A  village  is  en- 
tered by  a  drawbridge  and  a  mediaeval  gate  on 


314     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

the  south.  On  the  opposite  side  is  a  fortified 
wall  that  separates  it  from  the  northerly  por- 
tion of  the  island,  and  through  which  opens 
the  only  gate  in  that  direction.  The  old  castle, 
in  the  form  of  a  quadrangle,  with  a  high  square 
tower,  was  entered  on  the  north  by  a  draw- 
bridge. This  entrance  is  still  well  preserved, 
as  well  as  its  small  port  or  darsena,  surrounded 
by  crenelated  battlements;  but  the  principal 
entrance  is  now  on  the  side  of  the  village,  by 
a  gate  over  which  are  shields  bearing  the  arms 
of  the  Scaligers.  It  is  one  of  the  most  impo- 
singly militant  of  all  the  castles  of  north  Italy. 
Only  that  of  Fenis  in  the  Val  d'Aoste  is  more 
so. 

Riva,  at  the  Austrian  end  of  the  lake  of 
Garda,  has  its  drawbacks  but  it  occupies  a  won- 
derful site  nevertheless. 

Wliile  Northern  Tyrol  is  still  wrapped  in  the 
white  mantle  of  winter's  snow,  and  winter 
sports  of  every  description  furnish  great 
amusement  for  old  and  young,  the  lovely  Lake 
of  Garda  is  already  beginning  to  show  signs 
of  spring.  All  along  the  lake  the  great  * '  stan- 
zoni,^''  or  lemon-houses  for  sheltering  the  lemon 
trees  in  winter,  are,  even  in  January,  often 
filled  with  blossoms. 

The  best  time  to  visit  Riva  is  from  February 


On  the  Lago  di  Garda 


Through  Italian  Lakeland        315 

to  June,  and  from  the  middle  of  August  to  the 
end  of  October,  but  Riva  at  all  times  will  be 
a  surprise  and  a  delight  to  those  who  do  not 
mind  a  regime  table  d'hote,  as  the  doctors  have 
it,  and  the  fact  that  everybody  round  about 
appears  to  be  a  semi-invalid. 

To  Brescia  from  the  foot  of  the  Lake  of 
Garda  is  a  matter  of  twenty  odd  kilometres, 
through  a  greatly  varied  nearby  landscape,  set 
off  here  and  there  by  vistas  of  the  azure  of  the 
distant  lake,  the  Alps  of  Tyrol  and  the  nearer 
Bergamese  mountains. 

**  Bologna  la  Grassa  "  and  ''  Brescia  Ar- 
mata  "  are  two  nick-names  by  which  the  re- 
spective cities  are  known  up  and  down  Italy. 
Brescia,  like  most  Italian  towns,  is  built  on  a 
hill  top  and  is  castle-crowned  as  becomes  a 
mediaeval  burg.  Brescia's  castle  is  an  excep- 
tionally strongly  fortified  feudal  monument. 
Brescia  Armata  took  its  name  from  the  fact 
that  it  was  ever  armed  against  its  enemies, 
which  in  the  good  old  days  every  Italian  city 
was  or  it  was  of  no  account  whatever.  Bres- 
cia's enemies  could  never  have  made  much 
headway  when  attacking  this  hill-top  fortress, 
and  must  have  contented  themselves  with  sack- 
iT-g  the  cities  of  the  surrounding  plain.  To-day 
firearms  in  great  quantities  are  made  here,  and 


316     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

thus  the  city  is  still  entitled  to  be  called  Bres- 
cia Armata. 

Brescia's  market  place  is  more  thickly  cov- 
ered with  great,  squat,  mushroom  umbrellas 
than  that  of  any  other  city  of  its  size  in  Italy. 

Brescia  is  dear  to  the  French  because  of  its 
wraith  of  a  mediaeval  castle,  once  so  vigorously 
defended  by  the  Chevalier  Bayard,  that  famous 
knight  sans  peur  et  sans  reproche. 

A  bastioned  wall  surrounds  the  gay  little 
Lombard  city  in  the  genuine  romance  fashion, 
albeit  there  is  to-day  very  little  romance  in 
Brescia,  which  lives  mostly  by  the  exploitation 
of  its  textile  and  metal  industries. 

Brescia  housefronts  are  as  gaily  decorated  as 
those  of  Nuremberg,  many  of  them  at  least. 
It  is  a  remarkable  feature  of  Brescia 's  domestic 
architecture. 

The  castle  or  citadel  itself  was  built  by  the 
Viscontis  in  the  fourteenth  century  on  the  sum- 
mit of  a  hill  overlooking  the  town.  The  Vene- 
tians strengthened  it  and  again  the  Austrians. 
General  Haynau  bombarded  the  low-lying  city 
round  about  in  barbarous  fashion,  so  much  so 
that  the  memory  of  it  caused  him  to  be  chased 
from  London  some  years  later,  when  he  was 
sent  there  as  Ambassador. 

The  men  of  Brescia  seem  to  have  a  passion 


Castle    of  Brescia 


Through  Italian  Lakeland         317 

for  wearing  a  great  Capucin  shoulder  cloak, 
which  looks  very  Spanish.  It  is  most  pictur- 
esque, and  is  one  of  the  characteristic  things 
seen  in  all  Brescia's  public  places,  caffes  and 
restaurants,  and  is  worn  by  all  those  classes 
whom  a  discerning  traveller  once  described  as 
men  who  work  hard  at  doing  nothing,  for  Bres- 
cia's  street  corners  are  never  vacant  and  her 
cafes  never  empty. 

Between  Brescia  and  Bergamo  is  the  Lake  of 
Iseo;  the  fourth  in  size  of  the  north  Italian 
lakes.  The  vegetation  of  its  shores  is  purely 
Italian  and  vineyards  and  olive  groves  abound. 
A  fringe  of  old  castle  towers,  of  walls,  palaces 
and  villas  surround  it,  all  blended  together 
with  a  historic  web  and  woof  of  medisevalism 
and  romance. 

From  Brescia  to  Bergamo  runs  one  of  the 
best  national  highroads  in  Italy.  The  automo- 
bilist  will  appreciate  this  and  will  want  to  push 
on  to  the  end.  He  would  do  better  to  break 
it  midway  and  drop  down  on  the  road  to  Mar- 
tinengo,  a  detour  of  twenty  kilometres  only, 
passing  the  great  Castle  of  Malpaga  built  by 
the  celebrated  Bartolommeo  Colleoni,  an  edifice 
which  gives  a  more  complete  idea  of  unspoiled, 
unrestored  residence  of  a  mediaeval  Italian 
nobleman  than  any  other  extant. 


318     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

Bergamo  is  a  strange  combination  of  the  new 
and  the  old.  The  upper  and  lower  towns  —  for 
it  is  built  on  a  rise  of  the  Bergamon  Alps  — 
have  nothing  in  common  with  each  other.  In 
the  lower  town  there  are  great  hotels,  shops, 
and  even  a  vast  factory  which  turns  out  a  cele- 
brated make  of  automobiles.  In  the  upper  town 
there  are  market-men  and  women,  with  chick- 
ens, vegetables  and  fruit  to  sell,  all  spread  out 
under  an  imposing  array  of  great  mushroom 
umbrellas  only  second  to  those  of  the  market 
place  at  Brescia. 

Bergamo's  chief  architectural  monuments 
are  its  churches,  but  its  ancient  Broletto,  or 
castle,  of  not  very  pure  Gothic,  but  with  a  most 
original  facade,  is  worth  them  all  put  together 
in  its  appeal  to  one  with  an  eye  for  the  pictur- 
esque. Its  tower  is  a  remarkably  firm,  solid 
and  yet  withal  graceful  sentinel  of  dignity  and 
power. 

Bergamo's  great  fair  of  Saint  Alexander, 
held  every  year  in  August,  was  once  the  rival 
of  those  great  trading  fairs  of  Leipzig  and 
Beaucaire.  Of  late  it  is  of  less  importance,  but 
holds  somewhat  to  its  ancient  traditions.  Cer- 
tainly it  filled  the  Albergo  Capello  d'Oro  to  such 
an  extent  that  it  was  doubtful  for  a  time  if  we 
could  find  a  place.    A  sight  of  our  mud-covered 


Bergc 


Through  Italian  Lakeland        319 

automobile  and  of  our  generally  bedraggled  ap- 
pearance —  for  it  had  rained  again,  though 
that  of  itself  is  nothing  remarkable  in  Italy,  and 
we  had  ' '  mud-larked  it  ' '  for  the  last  fifty  kilo- 
metres,—  caused  somebody's  conscience  to 
smite  him  and  find  us  shelter. 

Beyond  Bergamo  one  enters  the  classic  Ital- 


l^AKB     N4AOOIORC 


ian  Lake  region,  that  which  has  usually  been 
seen  through  a  honeymoon  perspective,  a  honey- 
moon that  is  long-lasting,  as  it  invariably  is  in 
Italy  as  some  of  us  know.  All  through  this 
lakeland  of  north  Italy  is  an  unbroken  succes- 
sion of  charms  which  certainly,  from  the  senti- 
mental and  romantic  point,  has  no  equal  in 
Italy,  or  out  of  it  in  the  same  area. 


320     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

The  whole  battery  of  little  cities,  towns,  and 
townlets  which  surround  Lakes  Como,  Varese, 
Lugano  and  Maggiore  are  delightful  from  all 
points.  Theirs  is  a  unique  variety  of  charm 
which  comports  with  the  tranquil  mood,  not  at 
all  the  same  as  that  possessed  by  the  average 
scorching  automobilist  who  reads  as  he  runs, 
and  wishes  to  eat  and  drink  and  absorb  his 
romantic  and  historic  lore  in  the  same  up-to- 
date  fashion.  Not  that  the  region  is  unsuited 
to  automobile  travel.  Not  at  all,  the  roads 
thereabouts  are  quite  the  best  in  Italy,  and  the 
towns  themselves  picturesquely  charming,  if 
often  lacking  in  ruined  monuments  of  mediaeval- 
ism  of  the  first  rank.  All  of  it  is  historic 
ground,  and  filled  with  echoes  of  fact  and  fancy 
which  still  reverberate  from  its  hills  and 
through  its  vales. 

Not  all  of  these  lake-side  towns  can  be  cata- 
logued here,  no  more  than  are  all  included  in 
the  average  itinerary,  but  from  Lecco,  at  the 
southern  end  of  the  Lecco  arm  of  the  Lago  di 
Como,  to  Orta  on  the  Lago  d'Orta  will  be  found 
myriads  of  scenic  surprises,  dotted  here  and 
there  with  quaint  waterside  towns,  the  lakes 
themselves  being  punctuated  with  great  white 
winged  barques,  with  here  and  there  the  not 
unpicturesque  coil  of  smoke  belching  into  the 


Through  Italian  Lakeland         321 


clear  sky  from  a  cranky,  fussy  little  steam- 
boat. 

One  most  often  approaches  the  lake  district 
from  the  east,  via  Lecco  on  the  eastern  arm  of 
Lake  Como,  or  as  it  is  locally  called  the  Lago 
di  Lecco.  Lecco  itself  is  of  no  importance.  Its 
site  is  its  all-in-all,  but  that  is  delightful.  Be- 
tween Lecco  and  Milan  the  highway  crosses  the 
Adda  by  a  magnificent  bridge  of  ten  arches 
built  by  Azzo  Visconti  in  1335.  Very  few  of  the 
works  of  the  old  bridge-builders  bear  so  ancient 
a  date  as  this.  From  Lecco  to  Monza  the  high- 
road skirts  the  Brianza,  as  the  last  Alpine  foot- 
hills are  called  before  the  mountains  flatten  out 
into  the  Lombard  Plain.  At  Arcore  is  the  villa 
of  the  Adda  family  with  a  modern  chapel. 

One  can  go  north  from  Lecco  to  Bellaggio  by 
steamer,  when  he  will  arrive  in  the  very  heart  of 
lakeland,  or  he  may  go  directly  west  by  the  high- 
road to  Como  and  take  his  point  of  departure 
from  there.  The  Lake  of  Como  was  the  Lacus 
Larius  of  the  Romans  and  the  Lari  Maxime  of 
Virgil.  It  is  a  hundred  and  ninety  metres  above 
sea  level  and  among  all  other  of  the  Swiss  and 
Italian  lakes  holds  the  palm  for  the  beauty  of 
its  surroundings. 

At  Nesso  is  the  Villa  Pliniana,  built  in  1570. 
It  is  not  named  for  Pliny,  but  because  of  a 


322     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

nearby  spring  mentioned  in  liis  writings. 
Pliny's  villa  was  actually  at  Lenno,  in  a  dull 
gloomy  site  and  he  properly  enough  called  the 
villa  Tragedia. 

Como,  the  city,  is  ancient,  for  the  younger 
Pliny,  who  was  born  in  the  ancient  municipium 
of  Comum,  asserts  that  it  was  then  a  '^  flour- 
ishing state."  It  does  not  enter  actively  into 
history,  however,  after  the  fall  of  the  Eoman 
Empire,  until  1107,  when  it  became  an  inde- 
pendent city.  It  remained  a  republic  for  two 
centuries  and  then  it  fell  under  the  dominion 
of  the  Visconti  since  which  time  its  fate  has 
ever  been  bound  up  with  that  of  Milan. 

The  Broletto  or  municipal  palace  is  curiously 
built  of  black  and  white  marble  courses,  patched 
here  and  there  with  red.  It  is  interesting,  but 
bizarre,  and  of  no  recognized  architectural  style 
save  that  it  is  a  reminder  of  the  taste  of  the 
people  of  the  Lombard  Eepublics  with  respect 
to  their  civic  architecture  in  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury. Como's  Duomo  is,  on  the  contrary,  a 
celebrated  and  remarkably  beautiful  structure. 
The  distinction  made  between  the  taste  in  eccle- 
siastical and  civic  architecture  of  the  time  can 
but  be  remarked. 

The  military  architecture  of  Como,  as  indi- 
cated by  the  gates  in  its  old  city  wall,  was  of 


On  the  La  go  di  C 


,omo 


Through  Italian  Lakeland         323 

a  high  order.  The  Porta  delhi  Torre,  the  chief 
of  the  gates  remaining,  and  leading  out  to  the 
Milan  road,  rises  five  stories  in  air. 

The  Palazzo  Giovio  is  now  the  local  mnseum. 
Paolo  Giovio  built  the  crudely  ornate  edifice, 
and  began  the  collection  of  antiquities  and  relics 
which  it  now  contains.  Above  Como,  but  out- 
side the  city,  rises  a  curious  lofty  tower  called 
the  Bardello.  It  may  have  been  built  as  one 
of  the  defences  of  the  Lombard  Kings,  or  it  may 
not,  but  at  any  rate  there  is  no  doubt  that  it 
witnessed  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  Milanese  dy- 
nasties from  the  first.  Como,  one  of  the  first 
cities  to  assert  its  independence,  was  the  first 
to  lose  it.  Prisoners  of  state  were  put  into  iron 
cages  and  stowed  away  in  the  Bardello  —  like 
animals  or  birds  in  a  live  stock  show.  They 
were  all  tagged  and  numbered  and  were  fed  at 
infrequent,  uncertain  hours.  Xot  many  lived 
out  their  terms;  mostly  they  died,  some  of 
hunger,  some  eaten  up  by  vermin  and  more 
than  one  by  having  dashed  their  brains  out  on 
the  iron  bars  of  their  cages. 

All  about  Como  are  little  lake  settlements 
peopled  with  villas  and  hotels  where  many  a 
mediaeval  and  modem  romance  has  been  lived 
in  the  real.  It  is  all  very  delightful,  but  in  truth 
aU  is  stagev. 


324     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 


Through  Italian  Lakeland         325 

At  ( 'adenabbia  is  the  Villa  Carlotta,  named 
for  Charlotte  the  Duchess  of  Saxe-Meiningen. 
Its  structural  elements  build  up  into  something 
imposing,  if  not  in  the  best  of  taste,  and  its 
gardens  are  of  the  conventionally  artificial  kind 
which  look  as  though  they  might  be  part  of  a 
stage  setting. 

Bellaggio,  on  the  eastern  shore  of  the  lake,  is 
a  place  of  large  hotels,  no  history  of  remark, 
and  the  site  of  the  villa  Serbelloni,  with  which 
the  proprietor  of  one  of  the  hotels  seems  to  have 
some  special  arrangement,  in  that  he  passes 
visitors  to  and  fro  from  his  establishment  to 
the  villa  in  genuine  showman  fashion.  Beyond 
its  site,  which  is  entrancingly  lovely,  it  has  no 
appeal  whatever  from  either  the  architectural 
or  the  landscape  gardening  point  of  view. 

Mennagio,  Belluno  and  Varenna  are  in  the 
same  category  and  are  tourist  show  places  only. 
Gravadona  is  different  in  that  it  has  two  re- 
markably beautiful  churches,  which  can  be 
omitted  from  no  consideration  of  Italian  church 
architecture,  and  the  Palazzo  de  Pero,  built  in 
1586  for  Cardinal  Gallio  which,  with  its  four 
angle-towers,  is  more  like  a  fortress  than  a  prel- 
ate's residence. 

Near  Gravadona  is  the  outline  of  an  ancient 
highway  known  as  the  Strada  Eegina.     Sup- 


326     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

posedly  it  was  made  centuries  and  centuries  ago 
by  Theodolinda,  Queen  of  the  Lombards,  and 
must  be  one  of  the  oldest  roads  in  existence. 

The  Lago  di  Lugano  is  the  most  irregular  of 
all  the  Italian  Lakes.  In  part  it  lies  in  Lom- 
bardy  and  in  part  within  the  Swiss  canton  of 
Ticino.  Its  scenery  is  quite  distinct  from  that 
of  the  other  Italian  lakes,  not  more  beautiful 
perhaps,  but  less  prolifically  surrounded  by  that 
sub-tropical  verdure  which  is  characteristic  of 
Garda  and  Como.  In  the  northeasterly  portion, 
around  Porlezza,  the  precipitous  outlines  of  the 
mountains  round  about  lend  an  almost  savage 
aspect. 

Lugano  itself  is  very  near  the  Swiss  border 
but  is  thoroughly  Italian,  with  deep  arcaded 
streets,  and  here  and  there  a  Renaissance  facade 
such  as  can  be  found  nowhere  out  of  Italy. 

The  Lago  di  Varese  is  the  smallest  of  all  the 
lakes.  In  the  neighbourhood  is  produced  a 
great  deal  of  silk,  and  a  species  of  easily  worked 
marble  or  alabaster  called  Marmo  Majolica. 
Varese  itself,  while  not  destitute  of  monuments 
of  architectural  worth,  is  more  noticeably  a 
place  of  modern  villas,  most  of  which  are  occu- 
pied by  wealthy  Milanese. 

From  Varese  to  Laveno  on  the  Lago  di  Mag- 
giore  is  a  matter  of  fifty  kilometres,  and  here 


"MAU-  '.'!■ 


o 


Through  Italian  Lakeland         327 

one  comes  to  the  most  famous,  if  not  the  most 
beautiful,  of  all  the  lakes. 

The  whole  range  of  towns  circling  this  dain- 
tily environed  lake  have  an  almost  inexpressible 
charm,  and  its  islands  —  the  Borromean  Is- 
lands —  are  superlatively  beautiful. 

Baveno,  on  the  mainland,  and  its  villas,  mod- 
ern though  they  are,  is  a  charming  place,  and 
Stresa,  a  little  further  to  the  south,  is  even 
more  delightfully  disposed.  All  about  the 
Italian  lakeland  are  the  modern  villa  residences 
of  distinguished  Milanese,  Turinese  and  Geno- 
ese families. 

Arena  is  at  the  southern  end  of  the  lake. 
Above  this  town  is  a  colossal  statue  of  San 
Carlo  Borromeo,  the  head,  hands  and  feet  being 
cast  in  bronze,  the  remainder  being  fabricated 
of  beaten  copper. 

The  famous  Borromean  Islands  in  the  Lago 
di  Maggiore  number  four:  Isola  Bella,  Isola 
Madre,  Isola  San  Giovanni  and  Isola  dei  Pisca- 
tori,  of  which  the  three  former  belong  to  the 
Borromean  family,  whilst  the  latter  is  divided 
among  small  proprietors. 

The  vast  Palazzo  of  Isola  Bella  was  a  concep- 
tion of  an  ancestor  of  the  present  family  in 
1671.  The  great  fabric,  with  its  terraces,  gar- 
dens and  grottoes,  is  an  exotic  thing  of  the  first 


328     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

importance.  It  is  idyllically  picturesque,  but 
withal  inartistic  from  many  points  of  view.  The 
contrast  of  all  this  semi-tropical  luxuriousness 
with  its  snow-capped  Alpine  background  is  not 
its  least  remarkable  feature.  It  has  been  called 
^'  fairylike,"  "  a  caprice  of  grandiose  ideas," 
and  "  enchanted,"  and  these  words  describe  it 
well  enough.  It  looks  unreal,  as  if  one  saw  it  in 
a  dream.  Certainly  its  wonderful  panoramic 
background  and  foreground  are  not  equalled 
elsewhere  and  no  garden  carpet  of  formal 
flowerbeds  ever  made  so  beautifully  disposed 
a  platform  on  which  to  stand  and  marvel.  The 
architect  of  it  all  made  no  allowance  apparently 
for  the  natural  setting,  but  overloaded  his  im- 
mediate foreground  with  all  things  that  sug- 
gested themselves  to  his  imaginative  mind. 
Somehow  or  other  he  didn't  spoil  things  as 
much  as  he  might  have  done.  The  setting  is 
theatrical  and  so  are  the  accessories;  all  is 
splendidly  spectacular,  and,  since  this  is  its 
classification,  no  one  can  cavil.  What  other 
effect  could  be  produced  where  ten  staired  ter- 
races tumble  down  one  on  another  in  a  veri- 
table cascade  simply  as  a  decorative  accessory 
to  a  monumental  edifice  and  not  as  a  thing  of 
utility? 

On  Isola  Madre  is  another  vast  structure  sur- 


Through  Italian  Lakeland         329 

rounded  by  tropical  and  semi-tropical  trees, 
flowers  and  shrubs.  A  chapel  contains  many 
of  the  tombs  of  the  Borromeo  family. 

The  Isola  dei  Piscatori  is  the  artists'  para- 
dise of  these  parts.  It  lacks  the  *  *  prettiness  ' ' 
of  the  other  islands  but  gains  in  ''  character  " 
as  artists  call  that  picturesqueness  which  often 
is  unsuspected  and  unseen  by  the  masses. 

Going  back  to  history,  here  is  what  happened 
once  on  the  Isola  Bella:  It  is  a  warm  June 
night.  The  mauve  summits  of  the  Simplon  and 
the  reflets  of  the  mirrored  lake  throw  back  a 
penetrating  shimmer  to  the  view.  Coming  from 
Baveno,  and  holding  straight  its  course  for 
Isola  Bella,  is  a  gently  moving  bark.  It  is 
the  year  1800,  and  on  the  stern  seat  of  the 
boat  sits  the  First  Consul,  who  was  once  the 
Little  Corporal  and  afterwards  became  Napo- 
leon I. 

The  French  army  had  freed  the  Alps,  some 
days  before.  Over  the  passes  of  Mont  Cenis,  of 
the  Simplon,  of  Saint  Bernard,  and  Saint 
Gothard  they  had  come,  soon  to  form  in  battle 
line  on  the  plains  of  Piedmont.  Moncey  was  at 
the  gates  of  Milan,  Lannes  held  the  passage  of 
the  Po.  The  First  Consul,  arriving  on  the 
shores  of  the  Lago  di  Maggiore,  decided  to  pass 
the  night  in  the  Castle  of  Isola  Bella,  alone  on 


330     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

this  enchanting  isle,  with  his  thoughts  and  his 
plans.  Bonaparte  jumped  first  from  the  boat 
as  it  grated  on  the  sands  and  was  received  by  a 
grotesquely  attired  major-domo,  in  the  name  of 
the  Counts  of  Borromeo,  the  sovereign  princes 
of  this  tiny  archipelago. 

In  the  seigneurial  chamber,  of  which  the  fur- 
niture comprised  a  great  four  poster  dating 
from  the  time  of  the  Medicis,  a  massive  round 
table,  its  top  laid  in  mosaic,  some  chairs  and  a 
terrestrial  globe.  Napoleon  shook  off  the  dust 
of  travel  forthwith :  but  he  did  not  seek  repose. 
On  the  mosaic  table-top  Napoleon  unfolded  a 
great  map  of  Italy,  and  with  forehead  in  his 
hands  gazed  attentively  at  its  tracings,  solilo- 
quizing thus:  "  Yes,  Italy  is  reconquered  al- 
ready; the  Austrian  army  cannot  escape  me. 
Fifteen  days  will  suffice  to  efface  the  disasters 
of  two  years.  The  Austrian  army  is  already  in 
retreat ;  its  rear  guard  has  become  its  advance 
guard.  The  tricolour  of  France  will  yet  float 
on  the  shores  of  the  Adriatic.  I  shall  march  on 
Eome.  I  will  chase  the  hateful.  Bourbons  from 
the  Kingdom  of  Naples  for  ever.  Europe  will 
tremble  at  the  echo  of  my  footsteps. ' ' 

Finally  the  twilight  faded ;  back  of  the  moun- 
tains of  Lugano  shone  a  brilliant  star.  Napo- 
leon thought  it  his  star  of  destiny.    To  the  wide 


Orta 


Through  Italian  Lakeland         331 

open  window  came  the  First  Consul  for  a  breath 
of  the  sweet  night  air.  It  acted  like  champagne. 
He  turned  back  into  the  room;  he  kicked  over 
the  terrestrial  globe  of  the  Borromeo ;  he  threw 
the  map  of  Italy  to  the  floor.  ' '  What  is  Italy !  ' ' 
he  cried,  ''  a  mere  nothing!  Bah!  it's  hardly 
worth  the  conquering.  Certainly  not  worth 
more  than  a  few  weeks.  But  I  will  leave  the 
memory  of  my  name  behind.  And  then  —  and 
then  Saint  Jean  d'Acre,  the  Orient,  the  Indies. 
Allans,  we  will  follow  the  route  of  Tamerlane! 
Poland  will  come  to  life  again,  Moscow,  St. 
Petersburg  ..."  and  then  he  dreamed. 

And  that  is  what  passed  one  night  in  the 
Palazzo  Borromeo  a  little  more  than  a  hundred 
years  ago. 

From  the  shores  of  the  Lago  di  Maggiore  to 
Orta,  on  the  lake  of  that  name,  is  a  short  dozen 
kilometres  from  either  Arona  or  Baveno.  At 
Orta  the  traveller  may  take  his  ease  at  an 
humble  inn  and  from  its  broad  balcony  over- 
hanging the  lake  enjoy  emotions  which  he  will 
not  experience  at  every  halting  place. 

Orta's  Municipio,  or  Town  hall,  dominating 
its  tiny  Piazza  is  unspeakably  lovely  though 
indeed  it  is  a  hybrid  blend  of  the  architecture 
of  Germany  and  Italy.  It  might  as  well  be  in 
Nuremberg,  in  Bavaria  or  Barberino  in  Tus- 


332     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

cany  for  all  it  looks  like  anything  else  in  Pied- 
mont. 

Out  in  the  lake  glitters  —  glitters  is  the  word 
—  Isola  San  Giulio,  its  graceful  campanile  and 
ancient  stone  buildings  hung  with  crimson 
creepers  and  mirrored  in  the  clear  blue  depths. 
About  tliis  island  there  hangs  a  legend.  The 
story  goes  that  no  one  could  be  found  ready  to 
ferry  the  apostle  Julius  across  to  the  chosen  site 
of  his  mission  in  the  year  1500.  According  to 
popular  rumour  the  isle  was  haunted  by 
dragons  and  venomous  reptiles  that  none  dared 
face.  Not  to  be  deterred  from  his  purpose,  the 
holy  man  spread  his  cloak  upon  the  water,  and 
floated  quickly  and  quietly  across.  Nor  did  the 
miracle  end  here,  for,  as  with  St.  Patrick  of 
Ireland,  the  unclean  monsters,  acknowledging 
his  power,  retired  to  a  far-away  mountain,  leav- 
ing the  saint  unmolested  to  carry  on  his  labours, 
which  were  continued  after  his  death  by  faith- 
ful friends.  This  is  the  story  as  it  is  told  on 
the  spot. 

The  island  was  held  as  an  outpost  against 
invasions  for  many  years,  and  for  long  wit- 
nessed the  hopeless  struggles  of  a  brave  woman, 
Villa,  wife  of  King  Berenger  of  Lombardy,  who 
was  besieged  there  by  the  Emperor  Otho  the 
Great. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

MILAN   AND   THE   PLAINS    OF   LOMBAKDY 

The  great  artichoke  of  Lombardy,  whose 
petals  have  fallen  one  by  one  before  its  enemies 
of  Piedmont,  is  now  much  circumscribed  in  area 
compared  with  its  former  estate. 

From  Como  to  Mantua  and  from  Brescia  to 
Pavia,  in  short  the  district  of  Milan  as  it  is 
locally  known  to-day,  is  the  only  political  entity 
which  has  been  preserved  intact.  Tortona, 
Novara,  Alessandria  and  Asti  have  become 
alienated  entirely,  and  for  most  travellers  Milan 
is  Lombardy  and  Lombardy  is  Milan.  To-day 
the  dividing  line  in  the  minds  of  most  is  de- 
cidedly vague. 

Lombardy  is  the  region  of  all  Italy  most  pro- 
lific in  signs  of  modernity  and  prosperity,  and, 
with  Torino,  Milan  shares  the  honour  of  being 
the  centre  of  automobilism  in  Italy.  The  roads 
here,  take  them  all  in  all,  are  of  the  best,  though 
not  always  well  conditioned.  That  from  Milan 
to  Como  can  be  very,  very  good  and  six  months 

333 


334     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

later  degenerate  into  something  equally  as  bad. 
The  roads  of  these  parts  have  an  enormous 
traffic  over  them  and  it  is  for  this  reason,  as 
much  as  anything,  that  their  maintenance  is 
difficult  and  variable.  For  the  greater  part  they 
are  all  at  a  general  level,  except  of  course  in 
entering  or  leaving  certain  cities  and  towns  of 
the  hills  and  on  the  direct  roads  leading  to  the 
mountain  passes  back  of  Torino,  or  the  roads 
crossing  the  lake  region  and  entering  Switzer- 
land or  the  Oberland. 

Lombardy  in  times  past,  and  to-day  to  some 
extent,  possessed  a  dialect  or  patois  quite  dis- 
tinct from  the  Franco-Italian  melange  of  Pied- 
mont, or  the  pure  Italian  of  Tuscany.  The 
Lombard,  more  than  all  other  dialects  of  Italy, 
has  a  decided  German  flavour  which,  consider- 
ing that  the  Lombard  crown  was  worn  by  a 
G-erman  head,  is  not  remarkable.  In  time  — 
after  the  Guelph-Ghibelline  feud  —  Lombardy 
was  divided  into  many  distinct  camps  which  in 
turn  became  recognized  principalities. 

The  Viscontis  ruled  the  territory  for  the 
most  part  up  to  1447,  when  the  condottiere 
Francesco  Sforza  developed  that  despotism 
which  brought  infamy  on  his  head  and  State,  a 
condition  of  affairs  which  the  Pope  described 
as  conducive  to  the  greatest  possible  horrors. 


334     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 


later  dogeiierate  into  something  equally  as  bad. 
The  roads  of  these  parts  have  an  enormous 
traffio  over  them  and  it  is  for  this  reason,  as 
much  as  anything,  that  their  maintenance  is 
difficult  and  variable.  For  the  greater  part  they 
are  all  at  a  general  level,  except  of  course  in 
ent'^ring  or  leaving  certain  cities  and  towns  of 
the  hills  and  on  the  direct  roads  leading  to  the 
mountain  passes  back  of  Torino,  or  the  roads 
crossing  the  lake  region  and  entering  Switzer- 
land or  the  Oberland. 

Lombardy  in  times  past,  and  to-day  to  some 
extent,  possessed  a  dialect  orjpatois  quite  dis- 
tinct from  thM-QM^-MGaf^^nge  of  Pied- 
mont, or  the  pure  Italian  of  Tuscany.     The 
Lombard,  more  than  all  other  dialects  of  Italy, 
has  a  decided  German  flavour  which,  consider- 
ing that  the  Lombard  crown  was  worn  by  a 
(.Terman  head,  is  not  remarkable.     In  time  — 
'  ^^  Ouelph-Ghibelline  feud  —  Lombardy 
'■  ■!  into  many  distinct  camps  which  in 
iH  recognized  principalities. 
\  iscontis   ruled  the   territory  for  the 
mo.sl    part  up  to   1447,  when  the  condottiere 
Francesco    Sforza    developed    that    despotism 
which  bjo?ight  infamy  on  his  head  and  State,  a 
condition  of  aifairs  which  the  Pope  described 
as  conducive  to  the  greatest  possible  horrors. 


Milan  and  Lombardy  335 

Lombardy  has  ever  been  considered  the  real 
paradise  and  land  of  riches  of  all  Italy,  and  even 
now,  in  a  certain  luxuriousness  of  attitude 
towards  life,  it  lives  up  to  its  repudiation  of  the 
days  of  the  dominating  Visconti  and  Sforza. 

Milan  is  to-day  the  luxurious  capital  of  Lom- 
bardy, as  was  Pavia  in  the  past.  At  one  time, 
be  it  recalled,  Milan  was  a  Duchy  in  its  own 
right.  Years  of  despotism  at  the  hands  of  a 
man  of  genius  made  Milan  a  great  city  and 
the  intellectual  capital  of  Italy.  Milanese  art 
and  architecture  of  the  fifteenth  century 
reached  a  great  height.  It  was  then,  too,  that 
the  Milanese  metal  workers  became  celebrated, 
and  it  was  a  real  distinction  for  a  knight  to  be 
clad  in  the  armour  of  Milan. 

"  Well  was  he  armed  from  head  to  heel 
In  mail  and  plate  of  Milan  steel." 

Milan  has  a  history  of  the  past,  but  paradox- 
ically Milan  is  entirely  modern,  for  it  struggled 
to  its  death  against  Pavia,  the  city  of  five  hun- 
dred and  twenty-five  towers,  and  was  born  again 
as  it  now  is.  One  should  enter  Milan  in  as 
happy  a  mood  as  did  Evelyn  who  ^'  passynge 
by  Lodi  came  to  a  grete  citty  famous  for  a 
cheese  little  short  of  the  best  Parmesan."  It 
was  a  queer  mood  to  have  as  one  was  coming 


336     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

under  Milan's  spell,  and  the  sculptured  and 
Gothic  glories  of  the  Cathedral,  as  it  stands  in 
completion  to-day,  are  quite  likely  to  add  to, 
rather  than  detract  from,  any  preconceived  idea 
of  the  glories  of  the  city  and  its  treasures. 

Milan  is  one  of  the  most  princely  cities  of 
Europe,  and  lies  in  the  centre  of  a  region  flow- 
ing with  milk  and  honey.  In  Evelyn's  time  it 
had  a  hundred  churches,  seventy  monasteries 
and  forty  thousand  inhabitants.  To-day  its 
churches  and  monasteries  are  not  so  many,  but 
it  has  a  population  of  half  a  million  souls. 

The  comment  of  the  usual  tourist  is  invari- 
ably: "  There  is  so  little  to  see  in  Milan." 
Well,  perhaps  so!  It  depends  upon  how  hard 
you  look  for  it.  Milan  is  a  very  progressive  up- 
to-date  sort  of  city,  but  its  storied  past  has 
been  most  momentous,  and  historic  monuments 
are  by  no  means  wanting.  Milan  is  modern  in 
its  general  aspect,  it  is  true,  and  has  little  for 
the  unexpert  in  antiquarian  lore,  but  all  the 
same  it  has  three  magic  lode  stones ;  its  luxu- 
riously flamboyant  Gothic  Duomo;  its  Am- 
brosian  Library  and  its  Palace  of  arts  and 
sciences,  La  Brera. 

Tourists  may  forget  the  two  latter  and  what 
they  contain,  but  they  will  not  forget  the 
former,  nor  the  Arch  of  Triumph  built  as  a 


Milan  and  Lombardy  337 

guide  post  by  Napoleon  on  his  march  across 
Europe,  or  the  Galleria  Victor-Emmanuel,  ' '  as 
wide  as  a  street  and  as  tall  as  a  Cathedral,"  a 
great  arcade  with  shops,  cafes,  restaurants  and 
the  like. 

There  is  the  Scala  opera  house,  too,  which 
ranks  high  among  its  kind. 

Milan's  "  eighth  wonder  of  the  world,"  its 
great  Cathedral,  is  the  chef  d'oeuvre  of  the 
guide  books.  Details  of  its  magnitude  and 
splendours  are  there  duly  set  forth.  Milan's 
Cathedral  has  long  sheltered  a  dubious  statue 
of  St.  Bartholomew,  and  tourists  have  so  long 
raved  over  it  that  the  authorities  have  caused 
to  be  graven  on  its  base :  '  *  I  am  not  the  work 
of  Praxiteles  but  of  Marcus  Agrates. ' '  Now  the 
throngs  cease  to  admire,  and  late  experts  con- 
demn the  work  utterly.  Such  is  the  follow-my- 
leader  idea  in  art  likes  and  dislikes !  And  such 
is  the  ephemeral  nature  of  an  artist's  reputa- 
tion! 

The  Palazzo  Reale  occupies  the  site  of  the 
Palazzo  di  Corte  of  the  Visconti  and  the  Sforza 
of  the  fourteenth  century,  '*  one  of  the  finest 
palaces  of  its  time,"  it  is  recorded.  The  Pa- 
lazzo of  to-day  is  a  poor,  mean  thing  archi- 
tecturally, although  the  residence  of  the  King 
to-day  when  he  visits  Milan.    The  Archiepisco- 


338     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

pal  Palace  of  the  sixteenth  century  is  perhaps 
the  finest  domestic  establishment  of  its  class 
and  epoch  in  Milan. 

Milan's  Castello,  the  ancient  castle  of  Milan, 
was  the  ancient  ducal  castle,  built  by  Galeazzo 
Visconti  II  in  1358,  to  keep  the  Milanese  in 
subjection.  It  was  demolished  after  his  death, 
but  rebuilt  with  increased  strength  by  Gian 
Galeazzo.  On  the  death  of  the  Duke  Filippo 
Maria,  the  Milanese  rose  (1447),  and,  having 
proclaimed  the  '^  Aurea  respublica  Ambrosi- 
ana,"  destroyed  the  castle.  It  was  rebuilt 
(1452)  by  Francesco  Sforza,  "  for  the  ornament 
(he  said)  of  the  city  and  its  safety  against 
enemies."  This  building,  completed  in  1476,  is 
the  one  now  standing.  In  the  interior  is  a  keep, 
where  the  dukes  often  resided.  Philip  II  added 
extensive  modern  fortifications,  and  caused  to 
be  pulled  down  all  the  neighbouring  towers 
which  overlooked  them.  The  castle  was  taken 
by  the  French  in  1796,  and  again  in  1800,  when 
Napoleon  ordered  the  fortifications  to  be  razed. 
It  has  since  been  converted  into  a  barrack.  Of 
the  round  towers  at  the  angles,  those  towards 
the  north  have  been  replaced  by  modern  brick 
ones,  while  the  two  towards  the  city,  formed 
of  massive  granite  blocks,  remain.  During  the 
vice-royalty  of  Eugene  Beauharnais,  a  Doric 


The  Ancient  Castle  of  Milan 


Milan  and  Lombardy  339 

gateway  of  granite,  with  a  portico,  or  line  of 
arches,  now  filled  up,  on  each  side,  and  in  the 
same  style,  was  erected  on  the  northwest  side ; 
between  each  arch  is  a  medallion  containing 
the  bas-relief  portrait  of  some  illustrious 
Italian  military  commander. 

The  Napoleonic  arch,  the  Arco  della  Pace, 
is  a  remarkably  interesting  civic  monument,  a 
reproduction  of  a  temporary  affair  first  built 
of  wood  and  canvas  in  1806.  Now  it  stands,  a 
comparatively  modern  work  to  be  sure,  but  of 
splendid  design  and  proportions,  built  of  white 
marble,  and  elaborately  decorated  with  sculp- 
tures all  at  the  expense  of  Napoleon,  who,  on 
his  march  of  migratory  conquest,  deigned  to  de- 
vote 200,000  francs  to  the  purpose. 

Milan's  hotels  are  of  all  sorts  and  conditions, 
but  with  a  decided  tendency  towards  the  good, 
as  is  fitting  in  so  opulent  a  country.  Bertolini's 
Hotel  Europe  takes  a  high  rank,  at  correspond- 
ing charges,  as  for  instance  four  francs  for  a 
''  box  "  for  your  automobile.  The  Touring 
Club  Italiano  endorses  the  Albergo  del  Cervo, 
where  you  pay  nothing  for  garage  and  may 
eat  as  bountifully  as  you  will  of  things  Italian, 
real  Italian,  at  from  two  to  three  francs  a 
meal.  One  of  the  most  amusing  things  to  do  in 
Milan  is  to  lunch  or  dine  in  one  of  the  great 


340     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

glass  covered  galleries  near  the  cathedral,  and 
one  feasts  well  indeed  for  the  matter  of  four 
francs,  with  another  couple  of  francs  for  a 
bottle  of  Asti.  These  great  restaurants  of  the 
galleries  may  lack  a  certain  aspect  of  the  next- 
to-the-soil  Italian  restaurants,  but  they  do  show 
a  phase  of  another  class  of  Italian  life  and  here 
''  Young  Italy  "  may  be  seen  taking  his  mid- 
day meal  and  ordering  English  or  German  beer 
or  Scotch  or  American  whiskey.  He  shuns  the 
Italian  items  on  the  bill  of  fare  and  orders  only 
exotics.  You  on  the  contrary  will  do  the  re- 
verse. 

Pavia,  thirty  odd  kilometres  south  of  Milan, 
was  ever  a  rival  of  the  greater  city  of  to-day. 
Pavia  is  a  tourist  point,  but  only  because  it  is 
on  the  direct  road  from  Milan. 

Pavia  was  the  Lombard  capital  from  572  to 
774.  Its  old  walls  and  ramparts  remain,  in 
part,  to-day  and  the  whole  aspect  of  the  town 
is  one  of  a  certain  medisevalism  which  comports 
little  with  the  modernity  of  its  neighbour,  Milan, 
which  has  so  far  outgrown  its  little  brother. 

Pavia 's  Certosa,  on  the  road  from  Milan  to 
Pavia,  is  its  chief  architectural  splendour.  Of 
that  there  is  no  doubt.  It  is  the  most  gor- 
geously endowed  and  most  splendid  monastery 
in  all  the  world,  founded  in  1396  by  one  of  the 


Milan  and  Lombardy  341 

Visconti  as  an  atonement  to  his  conscience  for 
having  murdered  his  uncle  and  father-in-law. 

A  Venetian,  Bernardo  da  Venezia,  was  prob- 
ably the  architect  of  the  Certosa,  and  brick 
work  and  superimposed  marble  slabs  and  tab- 
lets all  combine  in  an  elegance  which  marks  the 
Certosa  of  Pavia  as  characteristic  of  the  most 
distinctive  Lombard  manner  of  building  of  its 
epoch. 

Within  the  city  itself  still  stands  the  grim 
Castello,  built  on  the  site  of  the  palace  of  the 
Lombard  kings.  The  present  building,  how- 
ever, was  begun  in  1460  and  completed  in  1469. 
It  formed  an  ample  quadrangle,  flanked  by  four 
towers,  two  of  which  alone  remain.  The  inner 
court  was  surrounded  by  a  double  cloister,  or 
loggia ;  in  the  upper  one  the  arches  were  filled 
in  by  the  most  delicate  tracery  in  brickwork. 
The  whole  was  crowned  by  beautiful  forked 
battlements.  In  the  towers  were  deposited  the 
treasures  of  literature  and  art  which  Gian 
Galeazzo  had  collected :  —  ancient  armour ;  up- 
wards of  1,000  MSS.,  which  Petrarch  had  as- 
sisted in  selecting;  and  many  natural  curiosi- 
ties. All  these  Visconti  collections  were  carried 
to  France  in  1499  by  Louis  XII  and  nothing 
was  left  but  the  bare  wails.  One  side  of  the 
palace  or  castle   was  demolished   during   the 


342     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

siege  by  Lautrec  in  1527 ;  but  in  other  respects 
it  continued  perfect,  though  deserted,  till  1796, 
when  it  was  again  put  into  a  state  of  defence 
by  the  French.  They  took  off  the  roof  and 
covered  the  vaultings  with  earth;  and  when 
the  rains  came  on  in  autumn,  the  weight  broke 
down  the  vaultings,  and  ruined  a  great  part  of 
the  edifice.  It  has  since  been  fitted  up  as  a 
military  barracks.  The  great  ruined  gateway, 
once  entered  by  a  drawbridge  crossing  the  fosse, 
is  still  the  most  imposing  single  detail,  and  the 
great  quadrangle,  with  its  fourteenth  century 
arcades  and  windows,  ' '  a  medley  of  Gothic  and 
Bramantesque,"  is  striking,  although  the  mar- 
ble and  terra-cotta  ornaments  are  much  dilapi- 
dated. 

Francois  I's  famous  mot:  "  all  is  lost  save 
honour,"  uttered  after  the  eventful  battle  of 
Pavia,  will  go  down  with  that  other  remark  of 
his : ' '  Oh,  God,  but  thou  hast  made  me  pay  dear 
for  my  crown,"  as  the  two  most  apropos  say- 
ings of  Renaissance  times. 

One  has  to  look  carefully  "  under  the  walls 
of  Pavia,"  to-daj''  for  any  historical  evidence 
of  the  fatal  day  of  Frangois  I  when  he  lost  his 
''  all,  save  honour."  Du  Bellay  has  painted  the 
picture  so  well  that  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
four  hundred  years  have  rolled  by,  it  seems 


Milan  and  Lombardy  343 

unlikely  that  even  the  most  superficial  traveller 
should  not  find  some  historic  stones  upon  which 
to  build  his  suppositions. 

Pavia's  great  University  flowered  in  1362, 
and  owes  much  to  the  generous  impulses  of 
Galeas  II,  who  founded  its  chairs  of  civic  and 
canonical  law,  medicine,  physics  and  logic. 
Galeas  II  was  a  great  educator,  but  he  was  ver- 
satile, for  he  invented  a  system  of  torture  which 
would  keep  a  political  prisoner  alive  for  forty 
days  and  yet  kill  him  at  the  end  of  forty-one. 

If  one  returns  to  Milan  via  the  Bridge  of 
Lodi  he  will  have  made  a  hundred  kilometre 
round  of  classic  Lombard  scenery.  It  possesses 
no  elements  of  topographic  grandeur  but  is  rich 
and  prosperous  looking,  and  replete  with  his- 
toric memory,  every  kilometre  of  it. 

Lodi  has  evolved  its  name  from  the  ancient 
Laus  of  the  Komans,  another  evidence  of  the 
oblique  transformation  of  Latin  into  the  mod- 
em dialect.  The  men  of  Lodi  were  ever  rivals 
of  the  Milanese,  but  it  is  to  Napoleon's  cele- 
brated engagement  at  the  Bridge  of  Lodi  that  it 
owes  its  fame  in  the  popular  mind. 

Above  Lodi,  the  River  Adda  circles  and  boils 
away  in  a  sort  of  whirlpool  rapid,  which  Leo- 
nardo da  Vinci,  setting  his  palette  and  brushes 
aside,  set  about  to  control  by  a  dam  and  a  series 


344     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

of  sluices.  How  well  he  succeeded  may  be 
imagined  by  recalling  the  fact  that  the  Italian 
Edison  Company  in  recent  years  availed  them- 
selves of  the  foundation  of  his  plan  in  their  suc- 
cessful attempt  to  turn  running  water  into 
electricity. 

The  panorama  to  the  north  of  Milan  is 
grandiose  in  every  particular.  On  the  horizon 
the  Alpine  chain  lies  clear-cut  against  the  sky, 
the  Viso,  Grand  Paradise,  Mont  Blanc,  Splugen 
and  other  peaks  descending  in  one  slope  after 
another,  one  foothill  after  another,  until  all 
opens  out  into  the  great  plain  of  Lombardy. 

North  of  Milan,  towards  Como  and  the  Al- 
pine background,  is  Monza.  Lady  Morgan 
called  Monza  dreary  and  silent,  but  her  judg- 
ments were  not  always  sound;  she  depended 
too  much  upon  moods  and  hers  were  many. 

Monza 's  Broletto  was  built  by  Frederick 
Barbarossa,  or  it  was  a  part  of  a  palace  built 
by  that  monarch.  Italian  Gothic  of  an  unmis- 
takable local  cast  is  its  style  and  the  effect  is 
heightened  by  the  ringhiera  between  the  win- 
dows of  the  south  side. 

In  Monza 's  Cathedral  —  an  antique  interior 
with  a  Gothic  exterior,  by  the  way  —  is  the 
celebrated  Iron  Crown  of  Lombardy  with  which 
the    German    Emperors    of    Lombardy    were 


Milan  and  Lombardy 


345 


crowned.  Charles  V,  Napoleon  and  Ferdinand 
I  also  made  use  of  the  same  historic  bauble 
which  is  not  of  much  splendour.  It  costs  a  five 
franc  fee  to  see  it,  and 
the  sight  is  not  worth 
the  price  of  admission. 
From  Milan  to  Do- 
modossola,  leaving  Italy 
via  the  Simplon  Pass, 
is  177  kilometres,  or, 
via  Bellinzona  and  the 
Splugen,  207  kilometres 
with  mediocre  roads 
until  the  lake  region  is 
reached,  when  they  im- 
prove decidedly,  being  of  the  very  best  as  they 
ascend  the  mountain  valleys. 


THE* 

IRON  CROWN 

OF 

LOMBARDY 


CHAPTER   XIX 

TUEIN    AND    THE    ALPINE    GATEWAYS 

The  mountains  of  Piedmont  are  of  the  same 
variety  as  those  of  Switzerland  and  Savoy. 
They  form  the  highland  background  to  Turin 
which  gives  it  its  magnificent  and  incomparable 
framing. 

Turin,  or  Torino,  was  the  old  capital  of  the 
Duchy  of  Savoy,  then  of  the  Kingdom  of  Sar- 
dinia, up  to  1864,  and  to-day  is  the  chief  city  of 
Piedmont. 

Turin  is  laid  out  in  great  rectangular  blocks, 
with  long  straight  streets,  and  it  is  brilliant 
and  beautiful  as  modern  cities  go,  but  there  is 
not  much  that  is  romantic  about  it,  save  an 
occasional  historical  memory  perpetuated  by 
some  public  monument. 

Turin  at  the  time  of  the  founding  of  the 
kingdom  of  Sardinia,  which  included  also  the 
domain  of  the  house  of  Savoy,  contained  but 
75,000  inhabitants.  Said  Montesquieu,  who 
visited  it  in  1728 :  "  It  is  the  most  beautiful  city 

346 


Palazzo  Madonna,  Turin 


Turin  and  the  Alpine  Gateways    347 

in  the  world."  De  Brosseo,  a  few  years  later, 
declared  it  to  be  "  the  finest  city  in  Italy,  by 
the  proper  alignment  of  its  streets,  the  regu- 
larity of  its  buildings,  and  the  beauty  of  its 
squares."  From  this  point  of  view  the  same 
holds  true  to-day,  but  it  is  not  sympathetic  and 
winsome  in  the  least,  and  it  is  not  for  the  con- 
templation of  straight  streets,  square,  box-like 
buildings  or  formal  public  garden  plots  that 
one  comes  to  Italy. 

Turin's  monumental  memories  are  by  no 
means  non-existent  or  unclassed,  but  they  are 
almost  overpowered  by  the  modern  note  which 
rings  so  loudly  in  one's  ears  and  flashes  so 
vividly  in  one's  eyes. 

Of  them  all  the  Palazzo  Madonna  has  the 
greatest  appeal.  It  was  originally  a  thirteenth 
century  construction  of  the  Montferrats,  but 
was  added  to  at  various  times  until  well  along 
in  the  eighteenth  century,  when  it  became  the 
palace  of  Madonna  Reale,  the  widow  of  Charles 
Emmanuel  II.  All  its  value  from  an  archi- 
tectural point  of  view  is  in  its  exterior  aspect, 
but  its  trim  twelve-sided  towers  have  a  real  dis- 
tinction that  a  heavier,  more  clumsy  donjon 
often  lacks. 

The  Palazzo  Carignano  is  a  fanciful  inven- 
tion of  an  architect,  Guarni  by  name,  who  in 


348     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

1680  had  no  very  clear  idea  as  to  what  a  con- 
sistent and  pleasing  architectural  conception 
should  be.  This  palace's  sole  reason  to  be  re- 
membered is  that  it  was  the  residence  of  King 
Carlo-Alberto.  To-day  Guami's  original  fa- 
gade  has  been  covered  by  a  non-contemporary 
colonnade,  with  columns  and  statues  of  a  cer- 
tain impressive  presence,  which  would  be  con- 
sidered handsome  if  it  were  some  degrees  finer 
in  workmanship,  for  the  conception  was  cer- 
tainly on  becoming  general  lines. 

The  Palazzo  Valentino,  built  in  1633  by 
Christine  of  France,  the  daughter  of  Henri  IV 
and  Marie  de  Medici,  and  wife  of  Vittorio 
Amedeo  II,  is  now  devoted  to  the  usages  of  an 
educational  institution.  It  is  on  the  classic 
French  chateau  order  and  is  as  out  of  place  in 
Italy  as  the  Italian  Eenaissance  architecture  is 
in  England. 

On  the  Piazza  Castello  rises  Turin's  old 
castle  of  the  fourteenth  century,  built  of  brick, 
and,  though  moss-grown,  it  is  hardly  a  ruin. 

The  Palazzo  Reale,  built  in  1678  on  the  north 
side  of  the  Piazza,  is  severe  and  simple  as  to 
exterior,  but  luxurious  enough  within  by  reason 
of  the  collections  which  it  houses. 

In  the  armory  of  Turin's  royal  palace  is  the 
full  suit  of  armour  worn  by  Duke  Emanuele- 


Turin  and  the  Alpine  Gateways    349 

Filiberto  on  the  occasion  of  the  battle  of  St. 
Quentin,  and  made  by  his  own  hand.  He  was 
an  armourer,  a  silversmith  and  a  worker  in  fine 
metals  beyond  compare.  In  peace  he  was  a 
craftsman  without  an  equal ;  in  war  he  was  the 
same  kind  of  a  fighter. 

Another  armour  suit  is  of  gigantic  propor- 
tions. Who  its  owner  was  history  and  the  cata- 
logue fail  to  state.  The  breast-plate  bears  a 
ducal  coronet  and  the  letter  F.  The  suit  con- 
tains enough  metal  to  armour  plate  a  small 
battle  ship.  For  the  more  sentimentally  in- 
clined there  is  a  cabinet  of  delicately  fashioned 
stilettos,  which  we  have  always  fondly  believed 
were  the  national  arms  of  Italy.  These  partic- 
ular stilettos  were  taken  from  fair  ladies  after 
they  had  made  way  with  their  lovers  when  they 
came  to  be  a  nuisance.    Fickle  women! 

Turin  is  one  of  the  many  places  on  the  map  of 
Europe  famous  for  a  specialty  in  the  eating 
line.  This  time  it  is  chocolate.  Let  not  any 
one  think  that  all  chocolate  comes  from  Aigue- 
belle  or  Royat.  The  bread  of  Turin,  ''  gris- 
sini,"  is  also  in  a  class  by  itself.  It  is  made 
in  long  sticks  about  the  diameter  of  a  pipe  stem, 
and  you  eat  yards  of  it  with  your  minestra  and 
between  courses. 

The  puppet  show  or  marionette  theatres  of 


350     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

Turin  have  ever  been  famous,  indeed  the  fan- 
toccini theatre  had  its  origin  in  Piedmont.  The 
buff  on  Gianduja  was  of  Piedmontese  birth,  as 
was  Arlequino  of  Bergamo. 

Around  Turin  are  various  suburban  neigh- 
bourhoods with  historic  memories  and  some 
palace  and  villa  remains  which  might  well  be 
noted. 

The  Vigna  della  Eegina,  or  the  Queen's  Vine- 
yard, is  the  name  given  to  a  once  royal  resi- 
dence, now  a  girls'  school.  The  house  was  built 
in  1650  by  Cardinal  Maurice  of  Savoy.  An- 
other one  of  the  nearby  sights,  not  usually 
*'  taken  in,"  is  the  natural  garden  (an  undefiled 
landscape  garden)  arranged  in  the  sixteenth 
century  by  the  Duke  of  Savoy,  Emanuele  Fili- 
berto. 

King  Carlo  Felice  had  a  country  house  called 
the  Castello  d'Aglie  to  the  north  of  the  city. 
It  is  remarkable  for  nothing  but  the  pure  air  of 
the  neighbourhood,  and  that  abounds  every- 
where in  these  parts. 

At  Eivoli,  a  few  kilometres  out  on  the  Mont 
Cenis  road,  is  a  clumsily  built,  half  finished 
mass  of  buildings,  planned  by  Vittorio  Ame- 
deo  II.  in  the  eighteenth  century  as  a  royal  resi- 
dence to  which  he  some  day  might  return  if  he 
ever  got  tired  of  playing  abdicator.    He  occu- 


o\e.\\AaovioiiR,  kd 


350     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

Turin  have  ever  been  famous,  indeed  the  fan- 
toccini theatre  had  its  origin  in  Piedmont.  The 
buffon  Gianduja  was  of  Piedmontesc  birth,  as 
was  Arlequino  of  Bergamo. 

Around  Turin  are  various  suburban  neigh- 
bourhoods with  historic  memories  and  some 
palace  and  villa  remains  which  might  well  be 
noted. 

The  Vigna  della  Eegina,  or  the  Queen's  Vine- 
yard, is  the  name  given  to  a  once  royal  resi- 
dence, now  a  girls'  school.  The  house  was  built 
in  1650  by  Cardinal  Maurice  of  Savoy.  An- 
other ^^  «e|/#S^^lfer  gigfet^CfiNte/Pually 
*^  taken  in,"  is  the  natural  garden  (an  undefiled 
landscape  garden)  arranged  in  the  sixteenth 
century  by  the  Duke  of  Savoy,  Emanuele  Fili- 
berto. 

King  Carlo  Felice  had  a  country  house  called 
the  Castello  d'Aglie  to  the  north  of  the  city. 
Tt  is  remarkable  for  nothing  but  the  pure  air  of 
the  neighbourhood,  and  that  abounds  every- 
where in  these  parts. 

.\'  Rivoli,  a  few  kilometres  out  on  the  Mont 
oad,  is  a  clumsily  built,  half  finished 
mas8  of  buildings,  planned  by  Vittorio  Ame- 
deo  If.  in  the  eighteenth  century  as  a  royal  resi- 
dence to  which  he  some  day  might  return  if  he 
ever  got  tired  of  playing  abdicator.    He  occu- 


Turin  and  the  Alpine  Gateways    351 

pied  it  surely  enough  in  due  course,  but  as  a 
prisoner,  not  as  a  ruler.  He  was  a  well-mean- 
ing monarch,  and  through  him  the  house  of 
Savoy  obtained  Sardinia,  but  he  made  awful 
blunders  at  times,  or  at  least  one,  for  ultimately 
he  landed  in  prison  where  he  died  in  1732. 

Six  leagues  from  Turin  is  the  little  garrison 
town  of  Pinerolo.  A  heap  of  stones  on  the 
mountain  marks  the  site  of  a  chateau  where 
were  once  imprisoned  the  man  of  the  Iron  Mask, 
Lauzun,  the  political  prisoner  of  history,  and 
Fouquet,  the  money-grabbing  minister  of  Louis 
XIV. 

Lauzun  and  his  personal  history  make  inter- 
esting reading  for  one  versed  in  things  Italian 
and  French.  He  made  a  famous  mot  when  be- 
ing transported  to  his  mountain  prison.  He 
was  requested  from  time  to  time  to  descend 
from  his  carriage,  whenever  by  chance  it  had 
got  stuck  in  the  mud  or  wedged  between  offend- 
ing rocks.  With  much  apology  he  was  begged 
to  descend.  "Oh!  this  is  nothing;  these  little 
misfortunes  of  travel  are  nothing  of  moment 
compared  to  the  object  of  my  journey."  Other 
prisoners  may  have  put  things  similarly,  but 
hardly  with  the  same  grace  of  diction. 

Let  no  automobilist,  on  leaving  Turin,  come 
out  by  way  of  Pinerolo  unless  he  is  prepared 


352     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

for  a  detour  of  a  hundred  kilometres,  a  rise 
of  2,000  metres  and  a  drop  down  again  to  1,300 
metres  at  Cesana  Tarinese,  where  he  strikes  the 
main  road  over  the  Col  de  Mont  Cenis  to  Mo- 
dane  in  France,  or  via  the  Col  de  Mont  Genevre 
to  Briancon.  The  direct  road  from  Turin  is 
via  Eivoli  and  Suse. 

Not  every  traveller  in  Italy  knows  the  half- 
hidden  out-of-the-way  Val  d'Aoste,  the  obvious 
gateway  from  Turin  to  the  north  via  the  Col 
du  Saint  Bernard.  Travellers  by  rail  rush 
through  via  the  Simplon  or  Mont  Cenis  and 
know  not  the  delights  and  joys  which  possess 
the  traveller  by  road  as  he  plunges  into  the 
heart  of  the  Alps  through  the  gateway  of  the 
Val  d'Aoste. 

The  Val  d'Aoste,  less  than  a  hundred  kilo- 
metres, all  counted,  has  more  scenic  and  archi- 
tectural surprises  than  any  similar  strip  in 
Europe,  but  it  is  not  a  piste  to  be  raced  over  by 
the  scorching  automobilist  at  sixty  miles  an 
hour.  On  the  contrary  it  can  not  be  done  with 
satisfaction  in  less  than  a  day,  even  by  the  most 
blase  of  tourists.  The  railway  also  ascends  the 
valley  as  far  as  Aoste,  and  one  may  cross  over 
by  coach  into  France  or  Switzerland  by  either 
the  Col  du  Petit  Saint  Bernard  or  the  Col  du 
Grand  Saint  Bernard.    It  is  worth  doing! 


Turin  and  the  Alpine  Gateways    353 

The  whole  Val  d'Aoste  is  one  great  reminder 
of  feudal  days  and  feudal  ways.  Curiously 
enough,  too,  in  this  part  of  Piedmont  the  aspect 
is  as  much  French  as  Italian,  and  so  too  is  the 
speech  of  the  people.  At  Courmayer,  for  in- 
stance, the  street  and  shop  signs  are  all  in 
French,  and  'om  the  diminutive  of  homme  re- 
places the  Italian  uomo;  cheur  stands  for  coeur 
and  sita  for  cite  and  citta.  This  patois  is  uni- 
versal through  the  upper  valleys,  and  if  one 
has  any  familiarity  with  the  patois  of  Provence 
it  will  not  be  found  so  very  strange.  French, 
however,  is  very  commonly  understood  through- 
out Piedmont,  more  so  than  elsewhere  in  north 
Italy,  where,  for  a  fact,  a  German  will  find  his 
way  about  much  more  readily  than  a  French- 
man. 

One  blemish  lies  all  over  the  Val  d'Aoste. 
It  was  greatly  to  be  remarked  by  travellers  of 
two  or  three  generations  ago  and  is  still  in  evi- 
dence if  one  looks  for  it,  though  actually  it  is 
decreasing.  Large  numbers  of  the  population 
are  of  the  afflicted  class  known  as  Cretins,  and 
many  more  suffer  from  goitre.  It  is  claimed 
that  these  diseases  come  from  a  squalid  filthi- 
ness,  but  the  lie  is  given  to  this  theory  by  the 
fact  that  there  is  no  apparent  filthiness.  The 
diseases  are  evidently  hereditary,  and  at  some 


354     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

time  anterior  to  their  appearance  here  they 
were  already  known  elsewhere.  They  are  then 
results  of  an  extraneous  condition  of  affairs 
imported  and  developed  here  in  this  smiling 
valley  through  the  heedlessness  of  some  one. 
There  are  certain  neighbourhoods,  as  at  Cour- 
mayer  and  Ivrea,  where  they  do  not  exist  at 
all,  but  in  other  localities,  and  for  a  radius  of 
ten  kilometres  roundabout,  they  are  most  prev- 
alent. 

The  southern  gateway  to  the  Val  d'Aoste  is 
the  snug  little  mountain  of  Ivrea,  50  kilometres 
from  Turin.  The  cheese  and  butter  of  the  Ital- 
ian Alps,  known  throughout  the  European  mar- 
ket as  Beurre  de  Milan,  is  mostly  produced  in 
this  neighbourhood,  and  the  ten  thousand  souls 
who  live  here  draw  almost  their  entire  liveli- 
hood from  these  products.  Ivrea  has  an  old 
Castle  of  imposing,  though  somewhat  degener- 
ate, presence.  It  has  been  badly  disfigured  in 
the  restorations  of  later  years,  but  two  of  its 
numerous  brick  towers  of  old  still  retain  their 
crenelated  battlements.  The  place  itself  is  of 
great  antiquity,  and  Strabon  has  put  it  on  rec- 
ord that  3,600  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  Val 
d'Aoste  were  once  sold  en  bloc  in  the  streets  of 
Ivrea  by  Terentius  Varro,  their  captor. 

The  Val  d'Aoste,  from  Ivrea  to  Courmayer, 


Turin  and  the  Alpine  Gateways    355 

about  one  hundred  kilometres,  will  some  day 
come  to  its  own  as  a  popular  touring  ground, 
but  that  time  is  not  yet.  When  the  time  comes 
any  who  will  may  know  all  the  delights  of 
Switzerland's  high  valleys  without  suffering 
from  the  manifest  drawback  of  overexploita- 
tion.  One  doesn't  necessarily  want  to  drink 
beer  before  every  waterfall  or  listen  to  a  yoedel 
in  every  cavern.  What  is  more  to  the  point 
is  that  one  may  here  find  simple,  unobtrusive 
attention  on  the  part  of  hotel  keepers  and  that 
at  a  price  in  keeping  with  the  surroundings. 
This  you  get  in  the  Val  d'Aoste  and  throughout 
the  Alps  of  Piedmont,  Dauphiny  and  Savoy. 

Up  high  in  the  Val  d'Aoste  lies  a  battery  of 
little  Alpine  townlets  scarce  known  even  by 
name,  though  possessed  of  a  momentous  history 
and  often  of  architectural  monuments  marvel- 
lously imposing  in  their  grandeur  and  beauty. 

Near  Pont  Saint  Martin,  high  above  the  tor- 
rent of  the  Doire,  is  the  picturesque  feudal 
castle  of  Montalto,  a  name  famous  in  Italian 
annals  of  the  middle  ages. 

Over  the  river  Lys,  at  Pont  Saint  Martin, 
there  is  a  Roman  bridge;  a  modern  iron  one 
crosses  it  side  by  side,  but  the  advantages,  from 
an  aesthetic  and  utilitarian  view-point,  as  well, 
are  all  in  favour  of  the  former.    A  ruined  castle 


356     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

crowns  the  height  above  Pont  Saint  Martin 
and  a  few  kilometres  below,  at  Donnas,  is  an 
ancient  Roman  mile  stone  still  bearing  the  un- 
effaced  inscription  XXXII  M.  P. 

This  whole  region  abounds  in  Napoleonic 
souvenirs.  Fort  Bard,  the  key  to  the  valley, 
garrisoned  by  only  eight  hundred  Austrians, 
gave  Bonaparte  a  check  which  he  almost  de- 
spaired of  overcoming.  The  Little  Corporal's 
ingenuity  pulled  him  through,  however.  He 
sent  out  a  patrol  which  laid  the  streets  of  the 
little  village  below  the  fort  with  straw  and  his 
army  passed  unobserved  in  the  night  as  if  slip- 
pered with  felt.  But  for  this,  the  Battle  of 
Marengo,  one  of  the  most  brilliant  of  French 
feats  of  arms,  might  never  have  been  fought. 

Bard,  the  fort  and  the  village,  is  now  ignored 
by  the  high  road  which,  by  a  cut-off,  avoids  the 
steep  climb  in  and  out  of  the  place. 

Unheard  of  by  most  travellers  in  Italy,  and 
entirely  unknown  to  others,  Verrex  in  the  Val 
d'Aoste  possesses  a  ravishing  architectural 
surprise  in  the  shape  of  a  feudal  castle  on  a 
hillside  overlooking  the  town.  It  is  of  the 
square  keep,  or  donjon,  variety,  and  played  an 
important  part  in  the  warlike  times  of  the  past. 

The  chateau  of  Issogne  near  by,  built  by  the 
Prior  Geor.  Challant,  less  of  a  castle  and  more 


Turin  and  the  Alpine  Gateways    357 

of  a  country  house,  is  an  admirable  fifteenth 
century  domestic  establishment  still  habitable, 
and  inhabited,  to-day. 

All  up  and  down  the  valley  are  relics  of  the 
engineering  skill  of  the  great  Roman  road  and 
bridge  builders.  The  road  over  Mont  Jovet, 
a  sheer  cut  down  into  the  roof  of  a  mountain, 
was  theirs;  so  were  the  bridges  at  Chatillon 
and  Pont  Saint  Martin,  and  another  at  Salas- 
siens.    At  the  Pont  d'Ael  is  a  Roman  aqueduct. 

Chatillon,  like  Verrex,  is  not  marked  in  big 
letters  on  many  maps,  but  it  belongs  in  every 
architect  lover's  Italian  itinerary.  Its  two 
bridges  of  olden  time  are  veritable  wonder 
works.  Its  chateau  Ussel,  a  ruin  of  the  four- 
teenth century,  is  still  glorious  under  its  coat 
of  mail  of  moss  and  ivy,  while  the  Castle  of 
Count  Christian  d'Entreves  is  of  the  kind  seen 
by  most  people  only  in  picture  books. 

At  Fenis  is  a  magnificent  feudal  battlemented 
castle  with  donjon  tower,  a  chemin  ronde  and 
a  barbican  so  awe-inspiring  as  to  seem  unreal. 
With  Verrex  and  Issogne,  near  by,  Fenis  com- 
pletes a  trio  of  chateaux-forts  built  by  the  over- 
lords of  the  name  of  Challant  who  possessed 
feudal  rights  throughout  all  the  Val  d'Aoste. 

Aimon  de  Challant  built  the  castle  of  Fenis 
in  1330.     Virtually  it  was,  and  is,  a  regular 


358     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

fortress,  with  as  complete  a  system  of  defence 
as  ever  princely  stronghold  had.  At  once  a 
smnptuoiis  seigneurial  residence  and  a  seem- 
ingly impregnable  fortress,  it  is  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  works  of  its  class  above  ground. 

Aoste  is  a  little  Italian  mountain  town  far 
more  French  than  Italian  from  many  points  of 
view.  It  is  of  great  antiquity  and  was  the 
Augusta  Praetoria  of  various  Roman  itineraries. 

Like  most  Roman  cities  Aoste  was  laid  out 
on  the  rectangular  parallelogram  plan,  an  as- 
pect which  it  still  retains. 

Aoste 's  triumphal  arch,  its  city  gate  and 
walls,  and  its  ancient  towers  all  lend  a  quaint 
aspect  of  mediaevalism  which  the  twentieth  cen- 
tury —  so  far  as  it  has  gone  —  has  entirely 
failed  to  contaminate. 

For  lovers  of  English  church  history  it  will 
be  a  pleasure  to  recall  that  Anselm,  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury  in  the  eleventh  century,  was  born 
at  Aoste.  Another  churchly  memory  at  Aoste 
is  a  tablet  inscribed  with  the  particulars  of  the 
flight  of  Calvin  from  his  refuge  here  in  1541. 

Saint  Bernard,  who  has  given  his  name  to 
two  neighbouring  mountain  passes  and  to  a 
breed  of  dogs,  was  Archbishop  of  Aoste  in  his 
time.  His  perilous  journeys  in  crossing  the 
Alps,  going  and  coming  to  and  from  his  mis- 


'4anui 


Castle  of  Fenis 


Turin  and  the  Alpine  Gateways    359 

sions  of  good,  led  to  his  founding  the  celebrated 
hospice  on  the  nearby  mountain  pass  which 
bears  his  name.  The  convent  of  the  Great  St. 
Bernard  is  the  highest  habited  point  in  Europe. 
From  Aoste  to  the  Hospice  of  the  Grand 
Saint  Bernard  is  twenty-six  kilometres,  with  a 
rise  of  nearly  2,000  metres  and  a  fall  of  a  like 
amount  to  Martigny  in  Switzerland.  The  per- 
centage of  rise  is  considerably  greater  than  the 
route  leading  into  France  by  the  Little  Saint 
Bernard,  which  falls  short  of  the  former  by 
three  hundred  metres,  but  the  road  is  rather 
better.  By  far  the  easiest  route  from  Turin 
into  France  is  via  the  Col  de  Mont  Cenis  to 
Modane;  but  a  modern  automobile  will  not 
quarrel  seriously  with  any  of  these  save  one 
or  two  short,  ugly  bits  of  from  fifteen  to  seven- 
teen per  cent.  They  are  pretty  stiff;  there's  no 
doubt  about  that,  and  with  a  motor  whose  horse 
power  is  enfeebled  by  the  rarefied  atmosphere 
at  these  elevations  the  driver  is  likely  to  meet 
with  some  surprises. 


CHAPTER   XX 

FROM  THE  ITALIAN  LAKES  TO  THE   RIVIERA 

There  is  one  delightful  crossing  of  Italy 
which  is  not  often  made  either  by  the  automo- 
bilist  or  the  traveller  by  rail.  We  found  it  a 
delightful  itinerary,  though  in  no  respect  did 
it  leave  the  beaten  track  of  well  worn  roads; 
simply  it  was  a  hitherto  unthought  of  combina- 
tion of  highroads  and  byroads  which  led  from 
Como,  on  the  shores  of  its  mountain  lake,  to 
Nice,  the  head  centre  of  the  Riviera,  just  across 
the  Italian  border  in  France,  entering  that  land 
of  good  cooks  and  good  roads  (better  cooks  and 
better  roads  than  are  found  in  Italy,  please 
remember)  via  the  Col  de  Tende  and  the  Cus- 
tom House  of  San  Dalmazzo. 

The  itinerary  covers  a  length  of  365  kilo- 
metres and  all  of  it  is  over  passably  good  roads, 
the  crossing  of  the  frontier  and  the  Lower 
Alps  at  the  Col  de  Tende  being  at  a  lower  level 
than  any  other  of  the  Franco-Italian  mountain 
passes,  although  we  encountered  snow  on  the 
heights  even  in  the  month  of  May. 

360 


Italian  Lakes  to  the  Riviera      361 

This  route  is  a  pleasant  variation  from  the 
usual  entrance  and  exit  from  Italy  which  the 
automobilist  coming  from  the  south  generally 
makes  via  one  of  the  high  Alpine  valleys.  If 
one  is  bound  Parisward  the  itinerary  is  length- 
ened by  perhaps  five  hundred  kilometres,  but 
if  one  has  not  entered  Italy  by  the  Cote  d'Azur 
and  the  Riviera  gateway  the  thing  is  decidedly 
worth  the  doing. 

Como  itself  is  the  head  centre  for  this  part 
of  the  lake  region,  but  we  used  it  only  as  a 
'*  pointe  de  depart."  Cernobbio  is  far  and 
away  the  best  idling  place  on  the  Lago  di  Como 
and  is  getting  to  be  the  rival  of  Aix-les-Bains 
in  France,  already  the  most  frequently  visited 
automobile  centre  in  Europe. 

From  Cernobbio  to  Como,  swinging  around 
the  foot  of  the  lake,  is  but  a  short  six  kilo- 
metres, and  from  the  latter  place  the  Milan 
road  leaves  by  the  old  barbican  gate  and  winds 
upwards  steadily  for  a  dozen  kilometres,  cross- 
ing the  railway  line  a  half  a  dozen  times  before 
Milan  is  reached. 

The  detour  to  Monza  was  made  between 
Como  and  Milan,  a  lengthening  of  the  direct 
route  by  perhaps  a  dozen  kilometres,  and  the 
Strada  Militaire,  which  joins  with  the  Ber- 
gamo-Milan road,  was  followed  into  the  Lorn- 


362     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

bard  capital  through  the  Porto  Orientale.  The 
direct  road,  the  post  road  from  Como,  enters 
the  city  by  the  Porta  Nuova.  There  seems  to 
be  nothing  to  choose  between  the  two  routes, 
save  that  to-day  one  may  be  good  and  the  other 
bad  as  to  surface  and  six  months  later  the 
reverse  be  the  case. 

On  entering  Milan  one  circles  around  the 
Foro  Bonaparte  and  leaves  the  city  by  the 
Porta  Magenta  for  Turin.  Magenta,  twenty- 
five  kilometres;  Novara,  forty-six  kilometres; 
so  runs  the  itinerary,  and  all  of  it  at  the  dead 
level  of  from  120  to  150  metres  above  the  sea. 

We  were  stoned  at  Novara  and  promptly 
made  a  complaint  to  the  authorities  through  the 
medium  of  the  proprietor  of  the  Hotel  de  la 
Ville,  where  we  had  a  most  gorgeous  repast  for 
the  rather  high  price  of  five  francs  a  head.  It 
was  worth  it,  though,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
we  garaged  the  automobile  in  the  dining  room 
where  we  ate.  We  got  satisfaction,  too,  for  the 
stoning  by  the  sight  of  half  a  dozen  small  boys 
being  hauled  up  to  the  justice,  accompanied  by 
their  frightened  parents.  The  outcome  we  are 
not  aware  of,  but  doubtless  the  hotel  proprietor 
insisted  that  his  clients  should  not  be  driven 
out  of  town  in  this  manner,  and,  though  prob- 


Italian  Lakes  to  the  Riviera      363 

ably  no  serious  punishment  was  inflicted,  some- 
body undoubtedly  got  a  well-needed  fright. 

The  road  still  continues  towards  Turin  per- 
fectly flat  for  a  matter  of  a  hundred  kilometres 
beyond  Novara,  the  glistening  mountain  back- 
ground drawing  closer  and  closer  until  one 
realizes  to  the  full  just  why  Turin  and  Milan 
are  such  splendid  cities,  an  effect  produced  as 
much  by  their  incomparable  sites  as  by  their 
fine  modern  buildings,  their  great  avenues  and 
boulevards,  and  their  historic  traditions. 

This  borderland  between  Lombardy  and 
Piedmont  forms  the  very  flower  of  present  day 
Italy.  The  diarist  Evelyn  remarked  all  this  in 
a  more  appreciative  manner  than  any  writer 
before  or  since. 

He  wrote :  ' '  We  dined  at  Marignano  near 
Milan,  a  grette  cittie  famous  for  a  cheese  a 
little  short  of  the  best  Parmeggiano,  where  we 
met  half  a  dozen  suspicious  cavaliers  who  yet 
did  us  no  harm.  Then  passing  through  a  con- 
tinuous garden  we  went  on  with  exceeding 
pleasure,  for  this  is  the  Paradise  of  Lombardy, 
the  highways  as  even  and  straight  as  a  cord, 
the  fields  to  a  vast  extent  planted  with  fruit, 
and  vines  climbing  every  tree  planted  at  equal 
distances  one  from  the  other;    likewise  there 


364     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

is  an  abundance  of  mulberry  trees  and  much 
corn. ' ' 

To  arrive  on  the  Riviera  from  Turin  one 
leaves  the  roads  leading  to  the  high  Alpine 
valleys  behind.  Directly  north  from  Turin 
runs  the  highroad  which  ultimately  debouches 
into  the  Val  d'Aosta  and  the  Saint  Bernard 
Passes;  to  the  west,  those  leading  through 
Pinerolo  and  the  Col  de  Sestrieres  and  Susa 
and  the  Cols  of  Mont  Genevre  and  Mont  Ce- 
nis. 

Just  out  of  Turin  on  the  road  to  Cuneo 
(which  is  perhaps  more  often  called  by  its 
French  name,  Coni,  for  you  are  now  heading 
straight  for  the  frontier,  a  matter  of  but  a  half 
a  hundred  kilometres  beyond)  is  Moncalieri,  the 
possessor  of  a  royal  chateau  where  was  bom, 
in  1904,  Prince  Humbert  of  Piedmont,  the 
present  heir  to  the  Italian  throne. 

When  Italy's  present  Queen  Helena  so- 
journed here  after  the  birth  of  her  son  she  took 
her  promenades  abroad  en  automobile  and  so 
came  to  be  a  partisan  of  the  new  form  of  loco- 
motion as  already  had  the  dowager  Queen  be- 
fore her.  The  latter  may  properly  enough  be 
called  the  automobiling  monarch  of  Europe  for 
she  is  heard  of  to-day  at  Aix-les-Bains,  to- 
morrow at  Paris  or  Trouville  and  the  week 


Italian  Lakes  to  the  Riviera      365 

after  at  Pallanza  or  Cadennabia,  and  in  turn 
in  Spain,  at  Marienbad,  Ostend,  Biarritz  or 
Nice,  and  she  always  travels  by  road,  and  at 
a  good  j)ace,  too. 

This  up-to-date  queen's  predilection  for  the 
automobile  in  preference  to  the  state  coach  of 
other  days  or  the  plebeian  railway  has  doubtless 
had  much  to  do  with  the  development  of  the 
automobile  industry  in  Italy.  It  has,  too,  made 
the  gateway  into  Italy  from  the  Riviera  over 
the  Col  de  Tende  the  good  mountain  road  that 
it  is.  Those  who  pass  this  way  —  and  it's  the 
only  way  worth  considering  from  the  South  of 
France  to  the  Italian  Lakes  —  will  have  cause 
to  bless  Italy's  automobiling  queen.  The  chiefs 
of  state  of  Italy,  France  and  Germany  know 
how  to  encourage  automobilism  and  all  that 
pertains  thereto  better  than  those  of  Republi- 
can America  or  Monarchial  Britain. 

Carignano,  twelve  kilometres  beyond  Mon- 
calieri,  is  famous  for  its  silk  industry  and  its 
beautiful  women.  We  saw  nothing  of  the 
former,  but  the  latter  certainly  merit  the  en- 
comium which  has  been  bestowed  upon  them 
ever  since  the  Chevalier  Bayard  remarked  the 
gentilezza  and  beauty  of  the  widow  Bianca 
Montferrat,  and  fought  for  her  in  a  tourna- 
ment centuries  ago. 


366     Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

Carmagnola,  a  half  a  dozen  kilometres  off  the 
direct  road,  just  beyond  Carignano,  takes  much 
the  same  rank  as  the  latter  place.  Neither  are 
tourist  points  to  the  slightest  degree,  but  each 
is  delightfully  unworldly  and  give  one 
glimpses  of  native  life  that  one  may  find  only 
in  the  untravelled  hinterland  of  a  well  known 
country.  The  peasant  folk  of  Carmagnola  are 
as  picturesque  and  gay  in  their  costume  and 
manner  of  life  as  one  can  possibly  expect  to 
see  in  these  days  when  manners  and  customs 
are  changing  before  the  new  order  of  things. 
Here  is  the  home  of  the  celebrated  Dance  of  the 
Carmagnole,  a  gyrating,  whirling,  dervish-like 
fury  of  a  dance  which  makes  a  peasant  girl  of 
the  country  look  more  charming  than  ever  as 
she  swishes  and  swirls  her  yards  of  gold  or 
silver  neck  beads  in  a  most  dazzling  fashion. 
The  French  Eevolution  borrowed  the  "  Car- 
magnole "  for  its  own  unspeakable  orgies,  by 
what  right  no  one  knows,  for  there  is  nothing 
outre  about  it  when  seen  in  its  native  land. 
Possibly  some  alien  Savoyards,  who  may  have 
joined  their  forces  with  the  Marseilles  Batal- 
lion,  may  have  brought  it  to  France  with  their 
light  luggage  —  proverbially  light,  for  the 
Savoyard  has  the  reputation  of  always  trav- 
elling with  a  bundle  on  a  stick.    Would  that  we 


Italian  Lakes  to  the  Riviera       367 

touring  automobilists  could,  or  would,  travel 
lighter  than  we  do ! 

Racconigi,  a  half  a  dozen  kilometres  farther 
on,  has  another  royal  chateau,  and,  passing 
Saluzza,  through  the  arch  erected  in  memory 
of  the  marriage  of  Victor  Amedeo  and  Chris- 
tine of  France,  one  arrives  at  Cuneo  in  thirty 
kilometres  more.  From  Carmagnola  to  Cuneo 
direct,  by  Savigliano,  is  practically  the  same 
distance,  but  the  other  route  is  perhaps  the 
more  picturesque. 

At  Cuneo  one  has  attained  an  elevation  of 
some  five  hundred  and  thirty-five  metres  above 
sea  level,  the  rise  thence  to  the  Col  de  Tende 
being  eight  hundred  metres  more,  that  is  to  say 
the  pass  is  crossed  at  an  elevation  not  exceed- 
ing 1,300  metres. 

Cuneo 's  Albergo  Barra  di  Ferro  (a  new 
name  to  us  for  a  hotel)  accommodates  one  for 
the  price  of  five  francs  a  day  and  upwards,  and 
gives  a  discount  of  ten  per  cent,  to  members  of 
the  Touring  Club  Italiano.  These  prices  will 
certainly  not  disturb  any  one  who  can  afford 
to  supply  a  prodigal  automobile  with  tires  at 
the  present  high  prices. 

We  climbed  up  from  Cuneo  to  the  Col,  a 
matter  of  thirty- three  kilometres  of  a  very  easy 
rise,  in  something  less  than  a  couple  of  hours, 


368      Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

the  last  six  kilometres,  the  steepest  portion, 
averaging  but  a  five  per  cent,  grade. 

On  leaving  Cuneo  the  road  ascends  very 
gradually,  running  along  the  valley  of  the  Ver- 
magnana  to  the  foot  of  the  Col  where  it  begins 
to  mount  in  earnest.  Below  is  the  great  plain 
of  Piedmont  watered  by  the  Po  and  its  tribu- 
tary rivers,  while  above  rises  the  mass  of  the 
Maritime  Alps,  with  Mount  Viso  as  its  crown- 
ing peak,  nearly  four  thousand  metres  high. 
It  is  a  veritable  Alpine  road  but  not  at  all  dif- 
ficult of  ascent.  About  midway  on  the  height 
one  remarks  the  attempt  to  cut  a  tunnel  and 
thereby  shorten  the  route,  an  attempt  which 
was  abandoned  long  years  ago.  From  the  crest, 
the  Col  itself,  one  gets  a  view  ranging  from 
Mont  Viso  to  Mont  Rosa  in  the  north  and  on 
the  south  even  to  the  blue  waters  of  the  Medi- 
terranean. For  fully  a  third  of  the  year,  and 
often  nearer  half,  the  Col  de  Tende  is  cursed 
with  bad  weather  and  is  often  impassable  for 
wheeled  traffic  in  spite  of  the  fact  of  its  com- 
paratively low  elevation.  The  wind  storms 
here  are  very  violent. 

From  Tende  the  road  winds  down  into  the 
low  French  levels,  and  in  this  portion  takes 
rank  as  one  of  the  earliest  of  Alpine  roads,  it 
having  been  built  by  Carlo  Emanuele  I  in  1591. 


Italian  Lakes  to  the  Riviera      369 

Down  through  the  valley  of  the  Torrent  of 
the  Roya  glides  the  mountain  road  and,  pass- 
ing San  Dalmazzo  and  numerous  rock  villages, 
a  distinct  feature  of  these  parts,  in  sixteen  kilo- 
metres reaches  Breil,  the  first  place  of  note  on 
French  territory. 

We  had  our  "  triptych  "  signed  at  the 
Italian  dogana  fifteen  kilometres  beyond  the 
brow  of  the  mountain,  at  San  Dalmazzo  di 
Tenda,  crossing  on  to  French  soil  three  kilo- 
metres farther  on.  The  French  douane  is  at 
Breil,  at  the  sixty-sixth  kilometre  stone  be- 
yond Cuneo,  and  at  an  elevation  of  less  than 
three  hundred  metres  above  the  sea.  Here  we 
delayed  long  enough  to  have  the  douaniers 
check  off  the  number  of  the  motor,  the  colour 
of  the  body  work,  the  colour  of  the  cushions 
and  numerous  other  incidentals  in  order  that 
the  French  government  might  not  be  mulcted 
a  sou.  ' '  Everything  in  order.  Allons ! 
partez;  "  said  the  gold  braided  official,  and 
again  we  were  in  France. 

At  Breil  the  road  divides,  one  portion,  fol- 
lowing still  the  valley  of  the  Roya,  slopes  down 
to  Ventimiglia  in  twenty  kilometres,  the  other, 
in  forty  kilometres,  arriving  at  Nice  via  the 
valley  of  the  Paillon. 

It  is  not  all  down  hill  after  Breil  for,  before 


370      Italian  Highways  and  Byways 

Sospel  is  reached,  seventeen  kilometres  away, 
one  crosses  another  mountain  crest  by  a  fairly 
steep  ascent  and  again,  after  Sospel,  it  rises  to 
the  Col  di  Brans  —  this  time  over  the  best  of 
French  roads  —  to  an  elevation  of  over  one 
thousand  metres. 

From  Sospel  a  spur  road  leads  direct  to 
Menton  but  the  Grande  Eoute  leads  straight 
on  to  Nice,  shortly  after  to  blend  in  with  the 
old  Route  d'ltalie,  linking  up  Paris  with  the 
Italian-Mediterranean  frontier,  a  straight  away 
''  good  road,"  the  dream  of  the  automobilist, 
for  a  matter  of  1,086  kilometres. 


THE   END. 


Index 


Abbey  at  Vallombrosa,   153 
Acquasola,  Park  of,  101 
Ad  Con  fluent  is,  65 
Adda  (Family  of),  321 
Adelphi,  The  (Secret  Society), 

39 
Adriatic  Sea,  16,  67,  163,  236, 

237,  260,  283 
iEmilia,  4,  271 
iEtna,  11,  19 
Agrippa,  211 
Aiguel>eUe,  6,  349 
Albergo  (See  also  Hotel),  48, 
49 

All'  Accademia,  304 

Arti,  270 

Asolo,  295 

Barra  di  Ferro,  367 

Capello  d'  Oro,  318 

del  Cervo,  339 

Delfino,  110 

della  Nuova  York,  117 

deUa  Quercia,  198 

del  Sol,  217 

Fanti-Stella  d'  Oro,  281 

Grimaldi,  94 

Guippone,  130 

Italia,  115 

Italia  (at  Urbino),  235 

Unione,  105 
Alassio,  91,  92 
Alba  Longa,  186 
Alban  Hills,  181,  189 
Albano,  179,  181,  184,  185,  189, 

197 
Albano  Lake,   184,   185,   186 


Albaro,  106 
Albenga,  66,  92,  93,  95 
Albero    d'    Oro    (See    Palazzo 

Imperiali) 
Albium  Ingaunum,  66 

Intermelium,  66 
Alessandria,  333 
Algeria,   15,   17 
Alps,  7,  12,  17 

Alps  of  Piedmont,  2,  15,  85 
Amalfi,  2,  212,  219,  220,  224 
Ambrosian  Library,  336 
Amelia,  66 
Ampesso  Pass,  294 
Ancona,  2,   11,  67,  225,  226, 

236,  238,  242,  243 
Aosta,  Valley  of,  72 
Aoste,  352,  358,  359 
Apennines,  The,  17,  65,  96,  117 
Appian  Way  (See  Via  Appia) 
Aquileja,  299 
Arch  of  Triumph,  336 
Arco  d'  Augusto,  245 
Areola,  116 
Arcore,  321 
Aretino,  Guido,  155 
Aretium,   160 
Arezzo,  7,  11,  70,  138, 153,  156, 

159.  160,161,231 
Ariminum,  64,  65 
Ariosto.  253,  255,  271 

Arno,'The  (River),  124,  125, 

127,   159.   160,   163 
Arno,  Valley  of  the,  124,  156 
Arona,  73,  327,  332 


371 


372 


Index 


Asinalunga,  166 
Asolo,  295,  297 
Assisi,  228,  230 
Asti,  333 

Augustus,  Tower  of,  86 
Averso,  199 
Avezzano,  225,  226 
Azeglio,  Massimo  d',  139 

Bacciochi,  Eliza   (Princess    of 

Lucca),  123 
Bales,  211 

Baptistery,  The,  of  Pisa,  126 
Barberino  di  Mugello,   11,  26 
BargeUo,   at  Florence,   162 
Bari,  237,  238,  241 
Barletta,  238 

Basilicate,  Province  of,  36 
Basilica  of  Santa  Maria  degli 

Angeli,  229 
Baveno,  327 
Bay    of    Naples,   13,  54,  207, 

209,211,213,  220 
Bellagio,  321,  325 
Bellay,     Cardinal     du     Joa- 
chim, 6 
Bellinzona,  345 
Belluno,  294,  295,  325 
Bergamo,  317,  318,  319,  350 
Bernadino,  75 
Bertolini,  105 
Biarritz,  3 

Bibbiena,  156,  161,  162 
"  Blue  Grotto,"  223 
Bologna,   6,    19,   61,   65,    160, 

251,  265—269,  277 
Bononia,  65,  160,  268 
Bordighera,  86,  87 
Borghese,  Family  of,  187 
Borgia    (Family    of),    5,    176, 

227,   244,   253,   261,   26 

263,  264 
Borgo  San  Donino,  65,  274 
Borromean  Islands,  327 
Botticelli,  14 
Bourbons,  40 
Breil,  369 

Brescia,  72,  315,  317,  318,  333 
Brescia  Armata,  315,  316 


Briancon,  73 
Bridge  of  Arcole,  303 
Brindisi,  236,  237,  239,  241 
Brisighella,  263 
Broletto  of  Bergamo,  318 
Brunelleschi,  Family  of,  146 
Brunswick,  Family  of,  257 
Buonaparte,  a  notary,  117 


Cadenabbia,  325 

Caesena,  65 

Calabria,  10,  17,  18,  19,  25,  27, 

196,  214 
Campagna,  19,  166,  173,  180, 

181,  182,  184,  189 
Campaldino,  Plain  of,  156 
Campanello     (Brigand)     141, 

142 
Campania,    Province,    36,    67 
Campanile,  The,  282 
Campanile  of  San  Marco,  295 
Campo  Formico,  298 
Campo  Santo  of  Pisa,  127 
Canalazzo  at  Venice,  288 
Canossa,  273 
Canova,  14 
Capo  delle  Melle,  91 
Capodimonte,   205 
Capo  di  Noli,  95 
Capo  di  Vado,  95 
Capri,  2,  15,  26,  198,  202,  207, 

220,  221,  222,  223 
Capua,  66,  197,  198 
Carbonari,  The,  39 
Careggi,  146,  147 
Carignano,  365,  366 
Carmagnola,  366 
Carrara,  117,  119 
Casa  del  Commune,  93 
Casa  di  Palladio,  301 
Casa  Stradivari,  312 
Casentino,    26,    65,    124,    144, 

156,  157,  158,  162,  163 
Caserta,  11,  198,  199 
Castellamare,  212,  219,  224 
Cassino,  184 
Cascades  of  Temi,  226 
Cascina,  128 


Index 


373 


Castles 

Castel  del  Carmine,  201 

"       Franco,  65,  269 

"      Gandolfo,  185,  186 

"       Malatesta,  245 

"      Paraggi,  111 
CasteUo  deU'  Ovo,  201,  202 

"     Gavone,  94 

"     of  Ferrara,  254 

"     ofMassa,  119 
Castle  of  Fenis,  21 

"     of  Malpaga,  318 

"     of  Rimini,  21 

"     of  Sant  Angelo,  13,  174 

176,  264 
Cathedral  of  Saint  Procule,  210 
Cemenelium,  66 
Cernobbio,  41,  361 
Certosa  at  Pavia,  340,  341 
Cervara,  109 
Cesana,  260,  261 
Cesana  Tarinese,  352 
Cesena,  65 
Chambery,  6 
Chatillon,  357 
Chaucer,  5,  279 
Chiavari,  112,  113 
Chioggia,  237,  238,  251 
Chiusi,  70,  167 

Church  of  Sant'  Antonio,  279 
Cimabue,  9 
Cimiez,  66 

Circus  Maxentius,  183 
Cisalpine  Gaul,  64 
Cisterna  di  Roma,  71,  197 
Civita  Castellana,  225 
Civita-Vecchi,  170 
Clatema,  65 
Clusium,  Tombs  of,  167 
Codroipo,  297 
Cogoletto,  98 
Coire,  75 
Col  de  Sestri^res,  364 

de  Tend,  360,  365,  367,  368 
du    Grand  St.  Bernard,  73, 

352,  364 
du  Mont  Genevre,  73,  364 
du  Petit  Saint  Bernard,  73, 

352,  364 


Mont  Cenis,  364 

Colosseum  (Rome),  174 

Colmo  dell'  Orso,  75 

Colonna,  Family  of,  5,  189,  190 

Comacchio,  250,  251 

Communicazione,  Strada  di 
grande,  69,  71 

Como,  73,  322,  323,  326,  333, 
360,  361 

Conegliano,  297 

Convent  of  the  Great  St.  Ber- 
nard, 359 

Cornudo,  295 

Corte  Reale,  310 

Cortona,  149 

Cosa,  149 

Cote  d'  Azur,  361 

Courmayer,  353,  354 

Cremona,  311,  312 

Crevola,  73 

Cuneo,  364,  367,  368,  369 

Dalmatia,  293 

Dante,  7,  156,  157,  158,  164, 
165,   248,   260,   270,   279, 
280 
Del  Sarto,  Andrea,  9 
Desenzano,  313 
Diveria,  73 

Dogana  (Custom  House),  62 
Dolce  Acqua,  86 
Domini,  154 
Domodossola,  73,  345 
Donatello,  120 
Donegani,  Carlo,  76 
Donnas,  356 

Doria,  Andrea,  90,  102,  109 
Duomo 

of  Como,  322 

of  Fiesole,  151 

of  Milan,  336 

of  Pisa,  126 
Durer,  Albrecht,  6 

Elba,  2 

F-mpoli,  130,  131,  132 
Este    (Family   of),    253,    256, 
258,  264,  270,  271 


374 


Index 


Este,  ViUage  of,  256,  258 
Etriiria,  67 


Faenza,  65 

Faenza,  263,  264 

Farnese,  Family  of,  187 

Faventia,  65 

Felix,  6 

Feltre,  294 

F6nis,  357 

Ferrara,  6,  238,  251,  253  —  256 

Fidentia,  65 

Fieschi  (Family  of),  102,  113 

Fiesole,  144,  145,  147,  148, 
151  —  153 

F.  I.  A.  F.  (Garages),  41, 
105 

Finale  Marina,  43,  93  —  95 

Fiorenzuola,  274 

Firenzuola,  65 

Fiume,  283 

Florian's,  286,  287,  292 

Florence,  1,  2,  6,  8,  11,  13,  18, 
31,  41,  43,  69,  70,  101, 
122,  128,  132,  133,  135, 
138,  141,  142,  144,  145, 
147,  152,  153,  158,  159, 
160,  171,  226,  250,  251, 
260,  268,  277,  312 

Florentia,  65 

Foggia,  238 

Forli,  65,  262,  263 

Foligno,  158,  226,  228,  230 

Forlimpopoli,  65 

Formia,  198 

Forte  Urbano,  269 

Fortezza,  The  (Secret  Society), 
39 

Forum  Cornelii,  65,  264 
Forum  Gallorum,  65,  269 
Forum  Livii,  65 
Forum  Populii,  65 

Fractelli,  The  (Secret  So- 
ciety), 39 

Frascati,  2,  12,  179,  181,  186, 
187,   188,  192 

Frosinone,  71 

Futa  Pass,  26,  251 


Gaeta,  71,  198 

Galleria     Victor  -  Emmanuel, 

337 
Gallinaria,  Isle  of,  92 
Garda,  326 
Garibaldi,  166,  204 
Geneva,  8 
Genna,  66 
Genoa,  5,  34,  41,  66,  69,  74, 89, 

93,  95  —  99,  102, 103, 105, 

106,  108,  201 
Gonfolina,  Gorge  of,  152 
Grenoble,  73 
Grimaldi,  62,  82,  83,  84 
Grand  Hotel  (Nervi),  108 
Grand-Hotel    (Rome),    171 
Grand  Hotel  San  Marco,  275 
Grand  Hotel  (Venice),  267 
Grand     Saint     Bernard     (See 

Col  du  Grand  St.  Bernard) 
Gravadona,  325 
Grimaldi,  Family  of,  102 
Gropollo,  Marchese,  108       •. 
Grosseto,  128,  138,  169 
Grotto  Nuovo  di  Posilipo,  206 
Guardie  -  Finanze      (Custom 

officer),  85 
Gubbio,  232 
Guiadecca,  292 
Guidi,  Counts  of,  157 
Gulf  of  Spezia,  66 

Hotel 

BeUe  Arti,  168 

Brun,  267 

Croix  de  Malte,  114 

Danielli,  267,  288 

de  la  Minerve,  171 

de  la  Ville  (Florence),  135 

de  la  Ville   (Novana),   362 

de  I'Europe  (Rampallo),  111 

de  I'Europe    (Venice),   288 

Diomede.  217 

Europe  (Milan),  339 

Helvetia,  135 

Massa,  119 

Palace,  133 

Porta  Rossa,  135 

Royal,    197 


Index 


375 


Royal  et  des  Etrangers,  199 
Splendide,  110 
Suisse,  217 
Herculaneum,  212,  218,  219 

II  Deserto,  98 

II  Paradisino  (Mountain),  155 

II  Salone,  280 

Imola,  61,  65,  262,  264,  265 

Intemillium,  85 

Ionian  Sea,  236 

Ischia,  211,  212 

Isernia,  238 

Isola  dei  Bergeggi,  95 

Issogne,  357 

Ivrea,  354 

La  Brera  at  Milan,  336 
La  Favorita,  205 
Lago  di  Como,  320,  321,  361 
Lago  di  Garda,  313,  314,  315 
Lago  di  Lugano,  320,  326 
Lago    di   Maggiore,    73,    320, 

326,  329,  331 
Lago  d'  Orta,  320 
Lago  di  Varese,  326 
Lake  of  Averno,  211 
Lake  of  Iseo,  317 
Lake  Varese,  320 
"  La  Lanterna,"  95,  103 
La  Magliana,  183 
La  Pineta,  246 
Lavagua,  113 
Laveno,  326 

La  Vema,  Convent  of,  162 
Lecce,  237 
Lecco,  320,  321 
Leghorn,  4,  15,  123 
Legnago,  310 
Lido,  The,  292 
Liguria,  15,  43,  65,  66,  92,  96, 

107 
Lion  Inn,  176 
Liro,  The,  76 
Livorno,  68,  119,  121,  123 
Livorno,  Duke  of,  123 
Lodi,  343 
Lombardy,  16,  17,  25,  73,  173, 

332—335,362,363 


Lorenzo  (he  Magnificent,  145, 

146,  152 
Lotto,  36 
Lucca,   11,  68,   69,   119,   121, 

122,  123,  273 
Lugano,  326 
Luna,  66,  67 
Luther,  Martin,  6 

Mafia,   The   (Secret  Society), 

39 
Magenta,  362 
Magra  (the  River),  116 
Malatesta  (Family  of),  245 
Manfredonia,  238,  241 
Mantua,  310,  311,  312,  333 
Marina-Andora,  91 
Marina  di  Pisa,  124 
Martinengo,  317 
Masaniello,  203 
Massa,  117,  119 
Massarosa,  121 
Medici    (Family    of),    5,    120, 

123,  132,  168,  187,  348 
Mediterranean  Sea,  17,  184 
Mennagio,  325 

Menton,  10,  81,  82,  83,  84,  95 

Mestre,  281,  282 

Meta,  212 

Milan,  1,  4,  6,  34,  41,  72,  73, 
105,  276,  321,  322,  333, 
335  —  340,  343,  344,  345, 
361,362,  363 

Milan  Express,  10 

Minestra,  30 

Modane,  73,  269,  359 

Modena,  65,  269,  270 

Monaco,   66 

Monopoli,  237 

Mont  Cenis,  73,  350,  352 

Monte  Appio,  86 

Monte  Berico,  303 

Monte  Carlo,  3 

Monte  Cristo's  Island,  2 

Monte   Falterona,    124,    156 

Montelupo,  133 

Montepuleiana,  11,  166,  167 

Monte   Secchieta,    155,    162 

Montevarchi,  156,  159 


376 


Index 


Mont  Gauro,  211 

Mont  Nuovo,  211 

Monza,  321,  344,  361 

Mortola,  82,  84 

Mugello,  Valley  of,  70,  151 

Musset,  Alfred  de,  8,  280,  287, 

288 
Mutina,  65 

Naples,  1,  8,  13,  15,  17,  18,  21, 
31,  34,  41,  43,  55,  63,  71, 
105,  196,  197,  198,  199, 
200,  201,  205,  207,  210, 
212,  213,  219,  224,  225, 
312 

Neapolitan  Camarra,  The  (Se- 
cret Society),  38 

Nervi,  108 

Nervia,  The,  86 

Nesso,  321 

Nicae,  66 

Nice,  65,  66,  370 

Noli,  95 

Nona's  Tower,  176 

Novara,  333,  362,  363 

Oneglia,  90,  98 
Orta,  309,  320,  331 
Ortona,  238,  241 
Otranto,  2,  237 

Orvieto,  70,  138,  166,  167,  168 
Osteria,  26 
Ostia,  66,  181 
Otricoli,  181 

Ouida,  Marquise  de  la  Ram^e, 
120,   121 

Padua,  5,  6,  7,  41,  278  —  281, 

294 
Paestum,  224 
Palace  of  the  Caesars,  247 
Palace  of  the  Carrera,  280 
Palace  of  Caserta,  205 
Palace  of  the  Doges,  288 
Palace  Famese,  205 
Palace  of  Theodoric,  247 
Palazzaccio,  159,  160 
Palazza  Publico  (Cesana),  261 
Palazzos  (See  also  Palaces) 


Palazzos 

Agostini,  127 

Bisenzi,  168 

Campetto,  105 

Capitano,  280 

Carignano,  347 

Communal,  244 

Del  Comune,  139,  245 

Dorio,   101 

Ducale,  270,  310 

Gonfaloneri,  312 

Gonzague,  310 

Imperali,  107 

Isola  Bella,  327 

Pretoria,  161 

Publico,  139 

Reale  (Milan),  337 

Reale  (Modena),  270 

Reale  (Turin),  348 

Rosso,  113 

Valentino,  348 

Vecchio,  162 
Palestrina,  189,  190 
Parma,  65 

Parma,  Duchy  of,  272,  273 
Passo  della  Somma,  71 
Pater,  Cosimo,  146 
Paterno,   154 
Pavia,  6,  333,  335,  340,  342, 

343 
Pegli,  99 
Perugia,  21,  70,  138,  158,  162, 

226,  228,  230,  231 
Pesaro,  244 
Pescara,  238,  241 
Peschiera,  309,  310,  313 
Petit  Saint  Bernard  (See  Col 

du  Petit  Saint  Bernard) 
Petrarch,  5,  160,  258,  279,  341 
Piacenza,  64,  65,  260,  272,  274, 

275,  276 
Piazzas 

Castello,  348 

Dei  Signori,  301,  304 

Del  Mercato,  130 

Del  Plebiscito,  169 

Di  Porta  Ravegnana,  269 

Erbe,  304 

Fontana,  169 


Index 


377 


Mercanto,  241 

San  Marco,  286 

San  Pietro,  87 

Vittorio     Emanuel     (Flor- 
ence), 136 

Vittorio      Emanuele      (Ra- 
venna), 248 

Vittorio  Emanuele  (Siena), 
164,  165 

Vittorio  Emanuele  (Verona), 
306 
Piedmont,    15,    16,   346,   530, 

353,  355,  363 
Pietrasanta,  119 
Pinerola,  351,  364 
Pisa,  41,  66,  67,  69,  125  —  128 
Pistoja,  131,  132 
Placentia,  64,  65,  274 
Pliny,  321,  322 
Poggibonzi,  141 
Pompeii,  216,  217,  218 
Pompey,   185 
Pontassieve,  153,  156 
Ponte  a  Mensola,  153 
Ponte  d'  Augusto,  245 
Pontedera,  129 
Ponte  di  Castel  Vecchio,  304 
Ponte  Lungo,  93 
Ponte  S.  Angelo,  171 
Pontine  Marches  (See  Pontine 

Marshes) 
Pontine  Marshes,  17,  72,  197 
Pont  Saint  Louis,  81,  83 
Pont  Saint  Martin,  355  —  357 
Pouzzoles,  210 

Poppi,  124,  156,  157,  IGl,  162 
Poppi-Bibbiena,  156 
Pordenone,  297 
Porlezza,  326 
Porta  alia  Croce,  153 

Camollia,  69,  164 

Capuana,  196 

Cavalleggeri.  171 

della  Torre,  323 

di  Elce,  231 

Romana,  69 

San  Lorenzo,  189 

San  Gallo,  145 

San  Sebastiano,  197 


Santa  Croce,  160 

S.  Frediano,  133 
Portici,  212 

Portofino,  66,  109,  110,  111 
Porto  Maurizio,  90 
Porto  Venere,  66 
Portus  Erici,  66 
Portus  Delphini,  66 
Portus   Herculis    Monoeci,    66 
Portus  Veneris,  66 
Posilippo,   63,   204,   206,   207, 

210 
Prato,  131,  132 
Procida,  211,  212 
Protectori    Republicana     (Se- 
cret Society),  39 

Quadema,  65 

Quai  Parthenope,  41 

Rabelais,  6 

Racconigi.  367 

Ragusa,  11 

Rapallo,  109,  111,  112 

Raphael,  234 

Ravenna,  2,  7,  236,  238,  245  — 

248,  250,  251 
Ravine  of  St.  Louis,  82 
Recco,  108 

Reggio,  10,  11,65,271 
Reggio,  Strada  de,  69 
Regium  Lepidi,  65 
Reininghaus,  The,  136 
Resina,  212 
Rheinwald,  The,  74 
Rimini,   2,   64,   65,   238,   245, 

260,  261,  264 
Riva,  314,  315 
Riviera  di  Levante,  108 
Rivoli,  350 
Rocca  di  Papa,  186 
Rocca  of  Cesana,  261 
Roja,  The,  85 
Romagna,  The,  163,  265 
Roman  Arena,  304,  306 
Roman  Forum,  179,  217 
Rome,  1,  2,  4,  6,  8,  11,  13,  18, 

21,  31,  34,  41,  43,  65.  66, 

67,  69,  70,  71,   101,   138, 


378 


Index 


160,  166,  168,  170,  171, 
172,  173,  179,  181,  182, 
183,  186,  189,  192,  197, 
201,  225,  238,  312 

Rotonda  Capra,  302 

"  Route  Internationale,"  81 

Royat,  349 

Rubens,  7 

Sabine  Hills,  189 

Saint  Peter's,  174 

Salerno,  213,  224 

Saltino,  154 

Saluzza,  367 

San  Dalmazzo,  360,  369 

Sardinia,  170 

Sand,  Georges,  8,  288 

San  Francesco,  Church  of,  229, 
248 

San  Fruttoso,  Monastery  of, 
109 

San  Gallo,  Giuliano  da  (archi- 
tect), 145 

San  Giacomo,  Gorge  of,  76 

San  Gimignano,  139,  141 

San  Giorgio,  291 

San  Marco,  13,  284,  286,  287, 
291  —  293 

San  Miniato  de  Tedeschi,  129, 
144 

San  Pier  d'  Arena,  95 

San  Salvatore,  Church  of, 
113 

San  Remo,  62,  87 

Santa  Margherita,  109,  110 

Santa  Maria  Novella,  9 

Sant'  Angelo,  21 

Sant'  EUero,  154 

Santuario  of  Vallombrosa,  154 

Sarazza,  2 

Sarzana,  117,  119 

Savigliano,  367 

S'avignamo,  65 

Savona,  66,  93,  95  —  98 

Scaldini,  33,  34 

Segni,  149 

Senegallia,  244 

Sermione,  313 

Sestri,  66 


Sestri-Levante,  113 

Sicily,  25 

Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  6 

Siena,  7, 11,  43,  69,  138,  141  — 

143,  158,  164—166,170 
Signa,  133 

Simplon  Pass,  10,  73,  345,  352 
Soave,  303 

Somma,  Passo  della,  71 
Sorrento,  198,  212,  219  —  222, 

224 
Sospel,  370 
Speranza,  The,  39 
Spezia,  65,  68,  108,  114—116 
Spezia,  Gulf  of,  66,  116,  163 
Spilla  Nera,  The   (Secret  So- 
ciety), 39 
Spinola,  Family  of,  102 
Splugen  Pass,  75 
Spoleto,  71,  226 

St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  162,  279 
Strada    di    grande  Communi- 

cazione,  71,  299 
Strada  di  Piedigrotta,  206 

Forvia,  199 

Militaire,  361 

Piasana,     133 

per  Roma,  142 

Regina,  325 

per  Siena,  142 
Strozzi  Palace,  135 
Stresa,  327 

Subiaco,  189,  190,  191,  192 
Susa,  Valley  of,  72,  73 

Taneto,  65 

Taormina,  2 

Taride  (Maps),  77,  78 

Taro  River,  273,  274 

Tasso,  Torquato,  233,  253,  256 

Taunetum,  65 

Termoli,  241 

Terni,  70,  138,  225 

Terracina,  71,  197 

Tiber,  Valley  of,  67 

TiguUia,  66 

Tivoli,  179,  181,  189,  192,  193, 

194 
Torre  Anunziata,  212 


Index 


379 


Torre  dei  Guelfi,  93 

Torre  del  Greco,  212 

Torre  de  Marchese  Malespina, 

93 
Torregaveta,  211 
Torre,  The,  of  Pisa,  126 
Torri  Asinelli,  269 
Torri  Gorisenda,  269 
Tortona,  333 

Touring  Club  Italiano,  78,  80 
Towers  of  Tuscany,  138 
Trattoria     (Italian     AVayside 

Inn),  43,  47,  52 
Trajan,  242 
Tregesco,  66 

Treviso,  293,  294,  297,  299 
Trieste,  283 
Tunisia,  16,  17,  26 
Turin,  34,  41,  72  —  74,  346  — 

352,  359,  362—364 
Tuscany,  16,  25,  122,  124,  334 
Tusculum,  188,  189 
Tyrrhenian  Sea,  120,  125,  170 

Ubertini,  Guglielmino  (Bishop 

of  Arezzo),  157 
Udine,  293,  297  —  299 
Ulm,  6 

Umbria,  162,  225,  238 
Urbino,  233  — 235 

Vada  Sabbata,  66 

Vado,  66 

Val  d'  Aoste,  2,  21,  73,  314, 

352  —  357,   364  (See  also 

VaUey  of) 
Val  d'  Elsa,  139,  141 
Val  d'  Arno,  152 
Val  d'  Arno  di  Sotto,  152 
Valley  of  Aosta,  72 
Valley  of  Susa,  72 
Valley  of  the  Tiber,  225 
Vallombrosa,    71,     144,     147, 

153—156,  162 
Valmontone,  189 
Var,  The  (River),  66 
Varazze,  43,  97,  98 
Varenna,  325 
Varese,  326 


Varium  Q,  66 

Vatican,    The,    173,    174,   227 
Veil,  186 
Venetia,  16 

Venice,  1,  2,  6,  7,  8,  11,  13,  19, 
21,    41,    43,    53,    72,    230, 
236,    251,    258,   260,   277, 
281-284,  286,  288,  290, 
292—298,  299,  312 
Ventimiglia,  66,  82,  86,  309 
Velletri,  71,  184,  189,  197 
Vernazza,  114 
Verona,  7,  72,  300,  303,  305  — 

310,  312 
Veronese,  Paul,  7 
Verrex,  356,  357 
Vesuvius,  2 

Via  Emilia,  7,   63  —  66,   163, 
245,   260,   266,  273  —  275 

uEmilia-Scauri,  66 

Ameria,  66 

Appia,  66,  67,  183,  196,  198, 
239 

Acquilla,  66 

Ardentina,  66 

Aurelia,  65  —  67 

Campagna,  183 

Cassia,  66,  67 

Clodia,  67 

del  Orto,  160 

Flamina,  64     (See  also  via 
Flaminia) 

Flaminia,  66,  160 

Latina,  66 

Laurentia,  66 

Ostiensis,  66 

Salaria,  66,  67 

Tusculum,  186 

Valeria,  67,  225 
Viareggio,  120,  121 
Vicenza,  19,  300,  301,  303 
Vigna  deUa  Regina,  350 
Villas 

Aldobrandini,  187 

Ambrogiana,  132 

Borghese,  176,  179 

Cambria,  107 

of  the  Cardinal,  232 

Cesarini,  21 


380 


Index 


of  Cicero  at  Bales,  210 

Conti,  187 

Doria,  100,  101 

d'  Este,  193 

Falconieri,  187,  188 

de  Franchi,  107 

Guadagui,  147 

of   Hadrian,    189,    193,    194 

Medici,    146,    176,    178,    188 

Negroni,   101 

Pagana,  111 

del  Paradiso,  106 

del  Popolo,  202 

Paladlo,  302 

Pallavicini,  99 

Palmieri,  147,  148 

Passarino,  298 

Pagana,   111 

Pet  raj  a,  146 

Plinlana,  321 


at  Poggio  Cajano,  145 

Rendel,  204 

Rinuccini,  147 

Rosazza,  101 

Ruffinella,  187 

Salviate,   147 

Scipione  Ammirato,  151 

Tusculana.  187 
Vmini,  31 
Vintimille    (See    Ventlmiglia), 

85 
Virgil,  206,  211,  239 
Viterbo,  70,  138,  158,  186,  168, 

169 
Vogelberg.  74 
Voie  iEmilia,  26 
Volterra,  139,  140,  141 
Voltri,  99 

Zocchi,  the  draughtsman,  148 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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ia    DEC  27  1 

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AUG  2  7  98> 
EB  18  1967 


Form  L9-50m-7,'54  (5990) 444 


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